


Sleeping Dragons Ep 01 - Everything Changes

by Soledad



Series: Sleeping Dragons [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Awesome Toshiko Sato, BAMF Ianto, Coming home isn't always easy, F/M, M/M, Sleeping Dragons, Torchwood Series 2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack returns from his fateful adventure with the 10th Doctor, he finds that in his absence the Queen has established Ianto as the new Director of Torchwood Three; Gwen has been fired and Retconned, and Owen is on suspension. However, Ianto has hired some new personnel, Torchwood Three works at peak efficiency, and now Jack has to work himself into their trust again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aeshna_cyanea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aeshna_cyanea).



> Timeline: Right before and during and Season 2 for Torchwood. Spoilers for the 3nd series Dr. Who finale “Utopia/The Sound of Drums/The Last of the Time Lords”.  
> After an idea of aeshna_cyanea, used with her generous consent.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **CHAPTER 01 – HOMECOMING**

They were back in Cardiff, after a whole year of living nightmare; and it was a beautiful, sunlit afternoon, the Bay glittering in the sunshine and Roald Dahl Plass full of tourists, as if nothing had happened. Which, as far as these people were concerned, had _not_. Only the three of them, standing at the rails by the Pinhead Building and looking out over the Bay, could remember – although, frankly, Jack would have preferred not to.

Martha, as radiant as always, but her beautiful eyes strangely haunted, was watching the people hurrying over the Plass after their business thoughtfully.

“Time was, every single one of these people knew your name,” she said to the Doctor softly. “Now they've all forgotten you.”

“Good,” the Doctor said with emphasis, and Jack couldn’t help but agree with him. It was unfair that no-one else would know how the Doctor and Martha saved the world between the two of them, but it was better so, for everyone involved.

“Well, that would be my clue, then,” he said, looking at the water tower that, unknown to most people, ran down to the underground base of Torchwood Three. _His_ base. “Time to go back to work.”

“I really don't mind, though,” the Doctor answered Martha; then he turned to Jack. “Come with me.”

To say that Jack was surprised by the offer would have been the understatement of the century. After having been abandoned and rejected – repeatedly! – by the eccentric Time Lord, he was now being offered the status of a _companion_?

Granted, he _had_ travelled with the Doctor before – with a different one, one who had accepted him (the mortal version of him anyway) with all his shortcomings and valued him for what he could do. Mostly things the Doctor wouldn’t (or couldn’t) do himself, but nonetheless.

This incarnation, however – he still wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this new Doctor. He certainly hadn’t expected _this_ : an invitation to return to the stars.

Still, it wasn’t easy for him to voice his refusal in a way the Doctor would actually understand. “I’m sorry, Doctor,” he said simply. “I can’t.”

The Doctor actually seemed hurt. Jack would have bet that not many people had ever rejected his offer in all those nine hundred years he had supposedly lived.

“I had plenty of time to think that past year, the Year That Never Was,” he explained. “And I kept thinking about that team of mine. I can’t abandon them; they need me. They would never be able to manage this job without me. Like you said, Doctor, responsibility.”

The Doctor seemed _genuinely_ hurt. For a moment, they remained in awkward silence, with Martha watching them out of the corner of her eye; then the Time Lord nodded briskly.

“Right,” he said. “Defending the Earth. Can't argue with that,” he extended his hand as if wanting to shake Jack's, but exposed the vortex manipulator instead.

“Hey!” Jack protested. “I need that!”

The Doctor shook his head. “I can't have you walking around with a time-travelling teleport,” he explained, producing the sonic screwdriver and manipulated something on the device. “You could go anywhere – twice,” he gave Jack a sidelong look and added. “The second time to apologise.”

Jack tried very hard _not_ to be insulted – and failed. After all that he had gone through, mostly on behalf of the Doctor, the Time Lord still had the cheek to patronize him? It simply wasn’t fair.

“What about me, though?” he asked, hating the slightly whiny undertone of his own voice. “Can you fix _that_? Will I ever be able to die?”

“Nothing I can do,” the Doctor replied with a crooked smile. “You're an impossible thing, Jack.”

Well, wasn’t that just wonderful? After a century and more of waiting and several hundred deaths, much of them thanks to his association with the Doctor, was _that_ all the Time Lord could tell him? That he was an impossible _thing_? Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to leave… to leave them both to go off on some new, mad adventure, regardless of the collateral damage on their wake.

“Been called that before,” he said with a forced laugh and started to leave, bitter disappointment weighing down heavily on his heart. Then stopped for a moment to mock-salute them. “Sir. Ma'am.” 

The Doctor gave him a two-finger salute in reply and Martha grinned. Jack turned to leave again but stopped a second time.

“But I keep wondering…what about aging,” he said hesitatingly. “‘Cause I can't die but I keep getting older. The odd little grey hair, you know? What happens if I live, say… for a million years?”

“I really don't know,” the Doctor admitted. Jack chuckled bitterly.

“Okay, I admit to vanity. Sorry. Yeah, can't help it. Used to be a poster boy when I was a kid back on the Boeshane Peninsula,” his eyes clouded with memories. “Tiny little place. I was the first one ever to be signed up for the Time Agency. They were so proud of me. They Face of Boe they called me,” he chuckled again, this time more genuinely. “Well, I'll see you, then. Hopefully.”

With that, he hurried across the Plass towards the water tower, not wanting to see the TARDIS leave. As firm as his decision was, _that_ might prove too much.

He never saw the Doctor and Martha staring after him in stunned disbelief.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The first surprise came when he stepped onto the paved slab of the invisible lift and tried to activate the machinery with the help of his wristband. 

The lift didn’t react at all.

He tried again. And again. And again. No change.

Finally, he decided that the lift must be malfunctioning or out of order and took the scenic route through the tourist office. He would have preferred _not_ to run into Ianto first, having reconsidered (and partially regretted) his past behaviour towards the young man during the Year That Never Was, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to go through the tourist office, which meant going through Ianto. It was that simple.

He only hoped that he’d get the chance to redeem himself in Ianto’s eyes, and do everything rightly, this time.

All the bigger was his second surprise, when he entered said tourist office – and failed to recognize it. Ianto’s blank, neatly ordered little place was gone; replaced by something that looked like the reception of an old-fashioned little hotel from the 1950s. Plus, the place now had a decidedly feminine touch, with knick-knacks and the usual souvenirs for sale among the brochures and leaflets, CDs with traditional Welsh music lining one shelf, and even potted plants in the one corner that actually did get some sunlight around mid-day.

Alice must have felt like this when she fell down that rabbit hole.

The likely source of all these changes, a twenty-something blonde girl wearing a very elegant, charcoal-grey costume with a pink-and-cream silk blouse, was talking on an old-fashioned phone – one with a real porcelain receiver – to someone. She had a slight Bristol accent.

“No, sir,” she was saying when Jack entered. “Director Jones is not in at the moment; he’d been called away to investigate some unusual founds in Splott. No, Doctor Sato isn’t available, either, I’m sorry. She’s cloistered herself with an experiment and won’t leave her lab until it has run its cycle.”

Tosh had a _lab_ now? Since when has she been called _Doctor_ Sato by anyone? Granted, she _did_ have two PhDs, but she never made a big deal out of them. And what kind of director had _Ianto_ become? And whom was the girl talking to anyway, giving away information about Torchwood Three’s inner affairs?

“I’m sorry, Sir Archibald, but there’s nothing I can do right now,” she was saying, still apologetic but with a hint of steel in her voice. “We’ve packed the data storage disks for you, but I cannot send them to Glasgow before Director Jones would have signed the transfer papers.”

Archie! She was talking to _Archie_ , the one-man Torchwood Two team! Since when did Torchwood Two and Torchwood Three have such a close co-operation? Not in _his_ time, for sure! He always found the old-fashioned Scotsman, well… a little strange.

The girl fed Archie a few vague promises, then hung up and turned to Jack with a polite smile.

“What can I do for…” she trailed off, her eyes widening in recognition. “Captain Harkness?”

Now Jack recognized her, too. It was Emma Cowell, the time-replaced girl from 1953… but what was she doing here? Wasn’t she supposed to go to London and become a fashion designer?

“In the flesh,” Jack said with a forced grin. “I haven’t expected to find you here, though. I thought you were in London.”

“I found that I didn’t like London so much,” she admitted. “So I came back to Cardiff and sought out this place again, since there were the only people I knew. Mr. Jones said they could use someone to run the cover shop, and here I am, all shop-girl now. _And_ the personal assistant of Mr. Jones.”

Jack didn’t quite understand why Ianto would need a personal assistant, but right now, he had more urgent questions to ask.

“What happened to the invisible lift? He asked. “I couldn’t make it work; is it broken?”

“Oh, no, the lift is fine,” Emma reassured him hurriedly. “It’s your access codes that have been deactivated, that’s all.”

“ _What_?” Jack couldn’t quite believe his ears. Emma shrugged.

“Well, you were missing, Captain, and nobody knew whether you intended to come back or not. Mr. Jones couldn’t take the risk of some impostor infiltrating the Hub, using your access codes.”

“What do you mean _Ianto_ couldn’t take the risk?” Jack demanded. “You speak of him as if he were the boss here.”

“Cause he is,” Emma replied calmly. “The Queen established him as the new Director of Torchwood Three, only six weeks after your… erm… departure.”

“Torchwood Three doesn’t _have_ a Director,” Jack said. “It hasn’t had one since the death of Alex Hopkins.”

Emma shrugged. “It has one _now_ ,” she replied simply.

Jack was a little shocked by the news that the Queen had replaced him, just like that. But he had to admit that Her Majesty had been well within her rights. Even if he did not take the Year That Never Was under consideration, he’d been away with the Doctor for months. Out of touch with his team, without any way for them to know where he’d been and whether or not he’d ever be back.

Still, it was not a pleasant feeling, being written off like that.

“So, can I get an audience with Director Jones, then?” he asked with barely veiled sarcasm. He knew Ianto was damn good at anything he put his mind to, but the new title reminded him uncomfortably of Yvonne Hartman and Torchwood One.

Of course, he realized with a jolt, Ianto _had_ worked for Torchwood One. He had spent three of his most formative years at Headquarters. It wasn’t really surprising that he would return to old, well-known structures, now that he had been put in charge. Especially considering his own tendency to a well-ordered routine.

Nonetheless, Jack found the similarities unsettling.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you again,” Emma said, “but he really isn’t in at the moment. In fact, he isn’t even in Cardiff. He’s gone to Torchwood House to inspect the Secondary Archives there. We don’t expect him back before Thursday; I just couldn’t tell Sir Archibald _that_ , or he’d have gone out to Torchwood House to pester him during his work, and Director Jones really likes to work undisturbed.”

Well, _that_ definitely sounded like the Ianto Jack knew.

“Who’s in charge while he’s away?” he asked.

“In theory, that would be Doctor Sato,” Emma said, “but she’s busy at the moment. They are running a test on a new security system with her lab assistant.”

“Tosh has a lab _and_ an assistant now?” Jack was truly baffled. “Since when?”

“Director Jones has hired some new personnel, as you can see,” Emma explained. “We’re still quite understaffed, though. Which is why all the others are out at the moment. We’re having a Blowfish incident.”

“Let me guess,” Jack grinned. “Burglaries, joyriding stolen vehicles, pick-pocketing, gobbling up food without paying for it, molesting women by talking to them in _really_ bad poetry, and all other sorts of havoc wrought.” 

“Something along those lines, yeah,” Emma agreed ruefully.

“I thought so,” Jack said. “It’s like an addiction with their species, really. Now, can you give me the co-ordinates of its last location?”

“What for?” she asked in surprise.

“I’ve dealt with this species before,” Jack said, grim memories of his joining Torchwood in the first place resurfacing. “My team has not. They might need me.”

Emma hesitated for a moment, then she shrugged and fed the coordinates into his wrist strap by reactivating his access codes.

“If Director Jones fires me for this, _you’re_ going to find me a new job,” she warned him.

Jack didn’t even listen to her. He was half-way out of the shop and jogging across the Plass already.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time, Torchwood Three’s new field team – sans the three most experienced team members – was moving through the streets of Cardiff in the SUV, in hot pursuit of a red convertible, driven by a bipedal creature with an oversized fish head of the same colour. The pursuit was made considerably easier by the target due to the fact that the top of the car was down and rap music was blaring from the radio. Not to mention the passers-by who were staring at the convertible and its unusual driver open-mouthed. 

Sara Lloyd, a tough blonde recently transferred from SOCO after nine years spent with crime scene investigations, was sitting in the back seat and had skeletal scans and DNA typing on her computer. Sally Jacobs, another pretty blonde, though a few years younger, sat next to her and was calmly putting bullets in her gun magazine. She came from UNIT, had survived the Sycorax invasion – narrowly – and wasn’t frightened by scary aliens any longer. Especially if scary aliens looked like fish in a suit.

Mickey Smith was driving the SUV in a breakneck style that usually made older Torchwood members like Ianto or Toshiko remember the driving style of Jack Harkness with nostalgia, with a decidedly nervous-looking ex-PC Andy Davidson in the passenger seat. Not that Andy would have been opposed to fast driving on principle; he just preferred to be the one who did said fast driving, which, he often stated, would be safer for all of them to arrive to their destination in one piece.

“Found the species on record, but no indigenous name,” Lloyd told the others. “It’s simply listed as _Blowfish_. DNA-type says some sort of land fish. There’s no autopsy record attached, either.”

“Strange,” Andy commented. “if Torchwood has already run into one of its kind…”

“The only report has been filled in the 1890s,” Lloyd replied, “by Captain Harkness himself. I guess Torchwood wasn’t that big on autopsies, back in the Victorian era.”

“We still aren’t that big on autopsies,” Sally Jacobs said. Lloyd shot her a wry look.

“It’s hard to perform an autopsy with our only medic on suspension,” she pointed out. “I hope Mr. Jones manages to find us another doctor, soon. I’m detecting high levels of algae, by the way.”

“Perhaps our fish dude is a vegetarian,” Mickey commented, chuckling over his own joke.

“That’s unlikely, considering he’s just raided a sushi bar,” Andy replied. “Shooting holes into the ceiling a dozen times, too.”

“Who's afraid of the big scary fish, then?” Mickey grinned. “Of the big fish with the gun?”

The others ignored him with practiced ease. His sense of humour was irritating at the best of times – and today was not one of those times.

“Did he have any special weapons?” Jacobs asked.

“No, he apparently had a very ordinary hand gun,” Andy replied. “Detective Swanson says it was a .38. It’s a good thing that we have such a reliable police liaison – it makes so much easier to get useful information.”

“Do _we_ need special weapons?” The gun clicked as Sally pulled the slider back and put a bullet in the chamber. ”Besides, what are we going to do when we catch it?”

Andy shrugged. “Dunno; put it into one of the empty cells, I s’pose. Captain Harkness would know how to deal with it, of course, but…”

“…but Captain Harkness ain’t here, is he?” Mickey scowled. Captain Harkness has disappeared. Fat lot of good Captain Harkness is.”

“And _you’re_ whining again,” Andy pointed to the red taillights in front of them. “Blowfish ahead.”

“Hold on!” Mickey yelled and stepped on the gas.

With tires screeching, the SUV caught up with the red convertible. Mickey reached for his seat belt with one hand, gripping the wheel with the other one tightly. 

“Hold the wheel,” he said to Andy.

The ex-PC stared at him in shock. “Are you bloody _insane_?”

“Hold the wheel!” Mickey shouted again.

He released his seat belt and relinquished the steering wheel to Andy, who thanked the fates for his years with the police, which had involved lots of fast driving. That didn’t mean that he’d _not_ be royally pissed with Mickey and his hare-brained ideas.

“Ianto is _so_ tearing you a new one for this stupid stunt!” he growled, but took over nonetheless, knowing that Mickey was the best shot of them all, now that Tosh and Ianto were otherwise engaged. Which had been the reason to bring him in the first place.

The tires screeched madly as he drove from the passenger seat. Mickey sat up out the window, aimed and fired at the convertible repeatedly. The first shot missed the target entirely; the second one ricocheted off the metal. The third shot finally took the tire out. The car exhausted flares and veered around the corner, out of their sight.

Mickey sat back down in the driver’s seat and smugly blew on the tip of his smoking gun.

“Ladies and gents, that was Mickey Smith, defending the Earth from the alien menace,” he announced.

Andy gave him an exasperated look. “This is a single Blowfish, Smith, not a Cyberman army,” he said patiently. Like everyone else within Torchwood Three, he could have recited Mickey’s heroic deeds in that parallel universe _and_ during the Battle of Canary Wharf by heart by now.

“A Blowfish that’s just managed to give us the slip,” Jacobs added sourly.

“It can’t have gone far just yet,” Andy replied, rolling down the window on his slide. “Slow down!”

They’ve come to an intersection with a traffic light and crosswalk. There were no other cars on the street, just an old lady with a cane walking slowly up to the crosswalk. Andy leaned out of the window.

“Excuse me,” he asked politely, “have you seen a Blowfish driving a sports car?”

The old lady stared at him for a moment, then she pointed towards the road left from the corner.

“Thank you,” Andy said with a friendly smile, and they took off again.

The old lady stared after them for a while before pressing the button to turn the traffic lights green. “Bloody Torchwood,” she muttered under her breath.

“I can locate the car round that corner,” Lloyd said, consulting his computer. “It’s just stopped. It’s right before us.”

“Let’s get out,” Mickey stepped on the brakes abruptly; the others groaned as the seat belts were stretched to the limit, pressing deeply into their skin. Then they got out of the SUV and approached the convertible with their guns out – only to find it empty.

”Dammit!” Mickey swore. “Stupid fish dude is gone! Where is it? Where's it gone?”

“It has to be somewhere nearby,” Lloyd moved around her hand-held scanner. “Look around the houses, he must have...”

She was interrupted by two gunshots, sounding from a nearby house. Ex-PC instincts kicking into high gear, Andy started running towards the house.

“Help him!” Lloyd shouted at Mickey and Sally. “He’ll need reinforcements. Go! Go! Go!”

They all ran for the house.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Finding the right residence was not particularly hard – the front door was left wide open. Mickey stormed in first, shooting instructions to the others.

“Andy, go left! Lloyd, go right! Sally take, centre! Positions!”

The others moved into position, without really listening to him. They were all ex-cops of some sort who didn’t need a self-proclaimed freedom fighter to give them orders. They were just humouring him, as this was the easiest way to deal with his tempers.

They found the Blowfish standing at the back of the room, holding a gun on a teenaged girl – presumably the daughter of the house. Police training kicking in again, Andy snatched her mother and pulled her aside to safety. A man who must have been the girl’s father was lying on the ground, choking from the gunshot wounds. 

Sally unwrapped her scarf to apply pressure on the wound and thus stop the bleeding. In Owen’s absence, she acted as their field medic, since all UNIT personnel had been thoroughly trained in providing first aid. Mickey and Lloyd kept their guns on the Blowfish. 

“Massive levels of adrenalin. mixed with approximately three grams of cocaine,” Lloyd read her hand-held scanner, operating it with her free hand. ”This fish is wired.”

The Blowfish tilted his head to the side – although _how_ he managed to do that without actually _having_ a neck was everyone’s guess – and looked at them with creepy, glassy eyes.

“So, this is Team Torchwood,” he said. “The leftovers of the police, trying to wear the boots of a man they could never truly catch up with.” He looked at Andy. “The beat cop, tired of walking the beat anymore; on the trail of a girl who only ever made fun of him.” Now he turned to Sally. “The pretty girl who nearly walked off the roof, steered by the Sycorax like a mindless puppet,” to Lloyd. “The scientist, with her cold devices and even colder heart.”

Sally was shocked hearing those words from the bizarre alien. “How comes it knows so much about us?”

“The species is probably telepathic,” Lloyd answered calmly. “I’d assume short-range telepaths; and likely better at it when on drugs.”

The Blowfish ignored them and looked at Mickey with frightening intensity, his scratchy voice taking on a strange, sing-song quality.

“Which leaves me with the street kid, allowed to play with the grown-ups,” he said. “So lost, without his girl… and without his master, the master of time, travelling in a little blue box. All of you... pretending to be so brave. All of you, so broken, so scared." 

He laughed at them, then turned and kissed his hostage on the cheek, breathing her in.

“So, what about it, Ricky the idiot?” he asked. “Can you do it? How good are you? How sharp is your aim? What if you kill her?” he taunted. “What if _I kill her_ first? Can you shoot, before I do? Can you? Dare you? Would you? Won't you?”

A bullet fired, interrupting the Blowfish’s monologue, hitting him dead centre of his forehead and taking out a chunk of the back of his head, splattering blood and fish brains on the curtains behind him. The Blowfish groaned and fell to the floor, dead.

The mother pushed Andy aside to get to her daughter. Mickey looked at his gun, knowing that _he_ hadn’t fired. He slowly turned around – and found himself staring down the barrel of Jack’s gun. His jaw hit the floor with an almost audible _thud_.

Jack grinned. “Hey Mickey, did you miss me? Haven’t expected to find you here, of all places. We’ll have a lot to discuss, once this mess has been dealt with,” he looked down at the dead Blowfish and shook his head in exasperation. “Why must these guys always get shot before I could question them properly?”


	2. The Dream Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several changes in the Hub layout had been made between Series 1 and 2. We never got an explanation what the reason for those changes might have been, so I simply decided that Ianto would be fond of a better organized workspace.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 02 – THE DREAM TEAM**

The return to the Hub did not turn out quite as triumphant as Jack had hoped it would be. The new team worked smoothly enough, with Andy and Mickey hauling the body bag with the dead Blowfish into the morgue and Sara Lloyd checking every inch of the SUV with all the thoroughness one had learned during almost a decade with SOCO.

“I’ll write the report, then,” Sally Jacobs said, and Lloyd, clearly in charge of this particular mission, nodded her thanks.

“You people write _reports_?” Jack asked in bafflement. “After a Blowfish hunt?”

That was something else not really practiced under _his_ rule.

Lloyd shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Mr. Jones has created forms for various kinds of field missions; you just have to fill out the fields. It’s usually done within ten to twenty-five minutes, depending on the case. I wish we had it this easy paperwork-wise while I still worked for the police.”

“How did you end up working for Torchwood anyway?” Jack asked; then, glancing in Andy’s direction, he added. “Both of you.”

“I’m not sure about Andy,” Lloyd admitted, “but _I was_ suggested to Mr. Jones by Detective Swanson, as I was getting bored with SOCO routine and wanted to do something different. She’s Torchwood’s police liaison, and…”

“Since when?” Jack interrupted.

Lloyd raised a surprised eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Since when has Kathy been Torchwood’s police liaison?” Jack clarified.

“Ever since you vanished into thin air,” Lloyd said. “Mr. Jones contacted Detective Swanson and offered a more regular co-operation with the police… _and_ coffee, whenever she’d come and synchronize actions,” she added with a grin.

Jack grinned back at her. “Bet it bought her on the spot.”

“Mr. Jones’ coffee is the stuff legends are born from,” Lloyd agreed, laughing. “Sometimes I think it could be _the_ peaceful way to world domination: get everyone addicted, and then threaten to put them on decaf. It certainly works with _us_.”

“You mean he still makes you coffee, although he’s the boss now?” Jack asked in surprise. Lloyd nodded.

“He still does almost everything he used to do before. All right, Emma runs the shop and Mickey cleans up after us and keeps the SUV in top condition – he _is_ a car mechanic, after all – but Mr. Jones still deals with the Archives, and the paperwork that’s the share of the Torchwood Director. _And_ with UNIT and the PM’s office, and occasionally even with the Queen. And he’s forbidden _anyone_ to even touch his coffee machine. He said that would be a sound reason for any Torchwood member to be summarily executed, and I have the uncomfortable feeling that he actually meant it. There was something in his eyes…” she mock-shivered.

Jack grinned in agreement. “Ianto can be scary… and very territorial.”

The latter called up some very pleasant memories, and he was quietly indulging in nostalgia while they returned to the main Hub area.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
That, too, had changed quite a bit during his absence. Most notably, the side area, which used to contain Suzie's (later Gwen's) workplace and a load of miscellaneous junk, including the Doctor's hand, had been cleared, and the boardroom had been moved to the other side. The old boardroom now housed a spacious lab, equipped with highly advanced technology, some of which looked suspiciously as if it had been moved over from Torchwood One. 

Also, the coffee area has been moved down from the balcony to take its place by the stairs up to the balcony, close to where Suzie's (or rather Gwen's) workplace used to be, so that Ianto now had a well-stocked kitchenette there. Several new terminals had been added to the main working area as well, indicating that Emma’s remark about Ianto having hired some new personnel had to be taken literally.

Tosh’s mysterious experiment must have run its cycle in the meantime, because she was back in the main working area. To Jack’s relief, she looked exactly the same as he remembered, save from the fact that she was wearing a white lab coat, which she had never done before. She was also clearly in charge of the whole place in Ianto’s absence, which actually made sense. With the exception of Owen, they were the ranking Torchwood members.

Jack chose to stand on the side and watch the interchange for the moment. Everyone pretty much ignored him, but that was okay. He needed to get a general impression about this whole new situation first.

“Are you sure no more like him came through?” Tosh asked a bald, bespectacled young man, who was sitting at Gwen’s former workstation.

“Cross-referencing with the Rift activity monitor; doesn't look like it,” the guy replied with a London accent. He, too, was wearing a white lab coat, meaning that he must have been some sort of scientist, too. The thin goatee and the baldness probably made him look older than his actual years; he might have been in his early thirties.

Mickey came in at that moment to report to Tosh. “The car's been impounded,” he said. “I'll get it back to the owner in the morning.”

Tosh nodded and looked at Sally Jacobs. “How’s the victim doing?”

“He’ll live,” the pretty blonde replied. “I’ve administered the minimal dose of Retcon to the entire family and suggested that there was merely a burglary gone wrong. Ianto will have to synchronize stories with Detective Swanson later, though.”

“He’s good at that,” Tosh agreed, turning to Lloyd. “So, I understand the species is already in the database?”

Lloyd nodded. “Bio-profile's onscreen now. Nothing in his genetic make-up is likely to contaminate the city.”

“Thank God for small favours,” Tosh murmured. “Mickey, can you deal with the body when it's cold?”

“Do you want me to put it into the freezer?” Mickey asked.

“Until somebody can do a proper autopsy, yes,” Tosh said. “After that – no need to keep dead aliens in storage. A few DNA samples will be enough.”

Mickey nodded and scurried off after his business. Tosh went to her own workstation and sat down, starting to type away at a speed that made her fingers look like a blur.

“You guys got pretty organized without me,” Jack commented, getting fed up with the way they were all ignoring him.

Tosh’s rapid-fire typing stopped for a moment, and she looked up at him over her glasses seriously.

“Well, we had to,” she said with a hint of accusation in her voice, despite her visible effort to remain professional.

Jack looked around the changed main area. “And you did quite a bit of redecoration here, too, I see,” he said. “Not that I wouldn’t like the new look – the new boardroom is particularly an eye-catcher – it’s just… well, _different_.”

“We’ve rearranged things, so that more people could work in here at the same time,” Tosh replied. “We had no other choice, Jack! You left us, and we had to see how we could manage. And don’t think it was easy!”

Jack sighed. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“We knew _nothing_ , Jack!” Tosh was trying very hard to keep her calm. “Gwen’s gone ballistic when she realized you’d run off with the Doctor without as much as by-your-leave. She was throwing tantrums everywhere, from the police trough UNIT even to Buckingham Palace. She stirred up so much trouble that Ianto had to Retcon her and fire her only weeks after he’s been established as the Director of Torchwood Three! Somehow she had come to the idea that she was entitled to lead the team in your absence, and none of us was having _that_.”

“Of course not, it would have been ridiculous; she was the rookie, after all,” Jack snorted. “But how comes that Ianto was the one to step into my shoes? I wonder what might have motivated the Queen to choose him, of all people.”

Tosh shrugged. “You forget that Ianto has worked for Torchwood longer than any of us – save from _you_ , of course. _And_ he knows a great deal about what Headquarters used to be up to and has most of the old codes and passwords in his head. _Including_ the ones that would provide access to Torchwood One’s funds.”

“He never told me a word about _that_ ,” Jack said accusingly.

“You never asked,” Tosh pointed out. “You've always been so prejudiced against London that you never wasted a thought on what might have happened with all their resources and properties. They _did_ have vast funds, you know. They built Torchwood Tower, just to reach that interdimensional Rift above Canary Wharf – and that wasn’t the only thing of that magnitude they built.”

“So, what happened to their wealth, then?” Jack asked.

“The properties in and around London went back to the Crown, with the exception of certain warehouses containing data storages and alien artefacts, which were annexed by UNIT,” Tosh answered. “Torchwood House got some of the funds, and so did Archie in Glasgow. The rest came to us with Ianto.”

“What about the other survivors?”

“Most of them chose to be Retconned or ended up in insane asylums,” Tosh sighed. “Trevor here,” she nodded towards the bald bloke at Gwen’s workstation, “worked for UNIT for a while but gladly accepted a job here. He’s an engineer, and a good one; a delight to work with. But Ianto is the only surviving _archivist_ of Headquarters. The last one of the guys who knew the codes and the passwords. So he’s practically considered the rightful heir of One’s wealth – as long as he brings it to Torchwood. Which means: to us.”

“Ain’t we the lucky guys?” Jack commented sarcastically.

Tosh gave him a hard look. “It was either that, or UNIT taking over here. Forgive me for supporting Ianto all the way, but _you_ of all people ought to know what a UNIT take-over would have meant for _me_.”

“They wiped your record,” Jack said.

“They didn’t wipe their own memories; and we all know how easy it is to reconstruct lost data,” Tosh said. “I’m glad you’re back, Jack, I missed you, and I know I owe you my life. But do not try to turn me against Ianto. Because that would be _wrong_ – and you’d lose.”

Jack was fairly shocked by this confrontation. He wasn’t used to quiet, timid Tosh being this outspoken. Tosh realized this, and her manner turned softer, more compassionate again.

“I’m _really_ glad to have you back, Jack. We all are. Where were you anyway?”

“I found my Doctor,” Jack answered slowly, not wanting to go into any detail. But Tosh understood it nonetheless. She was the only one of the team – the old _or_ the new team – who had met the Doctor in person. Granted, it had been a previous incarnation, but still…

“Did he fix you?” she asked quietly.

Jack put on his usual wide, self-confident, thousand megawatt grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What's to fix?” he asked back. “You don't mess with this level of perfection.”

But he knew he hadn’t fooled Tosh. The rest of them, yes, but Tosh had known him for too long and too well to buy the act. Fortunately for him, before Tosh could have called his bluff, her computer started beeping, and she turned back to the screen.

“Rift activity!” she said. “Get your gear, people, there’s work to do! Lloyd, you stay here and keep watch. I’m going out with the team.”

“Can I come with you?” Jack asked. “Like in old times…”

Tosh hesitated for a moment, but – appreciating the fact that he’d actually bothered to ask – she finally gave in.

“All right. Sally, stay behind. Try to reach Ianto and tell him he should come back as soon as possible. No details; I don’t know how secure the landline of Torchwood House is, and you know mobile phones won’t work there. Let’s go, folks!”

Andy and Mickey grabbed their kit and jogged down to the garage, Jack in tow, happy to be there again, even though it seemed there might be problems later. Before leaving, Tosh glanced at the Blowfish on the table in the autopsy area.

“Lloyd, do a thorough scan on this guy, will you? I don’ want any… surprises, should he be wired with something more than just cocaine.”

Lloyd nodded her understanding, and Tosh rushed off after the boys.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
It was already dark when they reached the source of the Rift activity: an alley outside of a large garage building. The police and SOCO were there, too, sealing off the surroundings of a dead body lying on the ground. Detective Swanson, as elegant and self-confident as always, frowned in displeasure when the Torchwood SUV pulled up.

“What’s Torchwood doing here?” she demanded angrily. “This is a clear and simple murder case!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tosh scanned the body with her little hand-held device. “I can read fragments of Rift energy around the neck, arm and shoulders.”

“Which means he was grabbed... and pushed,” Jack added helpfully.

Tosh nodded. “That would certainly explain the residual energy cluster.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “How did you ever manage without me?”

“They were at least a lot less annoying and self-important,” Swanson muttered _sotto voce_.

Jack flashed her an unrepentant grin. “I love you too, Kathy.”

Swanson gave him a dirty look. “Sure, whatever,” she glanced at her own people who were just out of earshot. “So, there's a potential killer on the loose.”

“Bipedal, and most likely humanoid,” Andy supplied.

“Thanks, Davidson,” Swanson looked at Tosh again. “Any other alien tech involved, Doctor Sato?”

Tosh shook her head. “No readings to suggest that.”

“Okay, let's get back and see what we can piece together,” Jack suggested. Tosh arched an eyebrow, and he hurriedly back-pedalled. “Sorry, old habit. Hard to break. You were saying…?”

“I was saying that we can leave the scene and let SOCO in. I’ve seen everything I needed to see; the rest is under the jurisdiction of the police.”

“We’ve got positive identification on the fingerprints,” Swanson consulted her palmtop. “It seems our victim here has a criminal record as thick as the phone book. Petty theft, mugging, burglary – all in the same, or a similar category.”

“You mean, it could be self-defence… in theory?” Andy asked, looking up at the car park building. “That was a long way to fall, in any case.”

“If he tried to rob someone up there, it _is_ possible that the other guy tossed him to save himself,” Swanson looked down at the knife the dead man was still gripping tightly. “There’s blood on the blade; perhaps he’s wounded his murderer, in which case we might have the DNA in our database.”

“Not if the killer came through the Rift,” Tosh sighed. “Still worth a try, though. Andy, take a sample before SOCO would take over. If the police can’t identify the killer, we still might.”

Swanson raised an elegant eyebrow. “You run a DNA database on your spookies?”

“We kinda have to,” Tosh replied. “Some species would be impossible to identify without it… or some individuals. The Weevils for example – at least the ones we’ve run into so far – all belong to the same genome. The individual differences are so small, we’d never know which one it is without a DNA scan.”

“Weevils… they are the weird blokes with the faces like Halloween masks, right?” Swanson asked. Tosh nodded. “Why do you want to identify the individual ones?”

“We’re trying to keep a check on their population,” Tosh explained. “Any sudden growth in their numbers would mean grave danger for the people of Cardiff. As long as there aren’t too many of them, they’re even moderately useful, since they live off the sewer rats. But they need to be watched constantly.”

“It’s like chipping wild animals,” Andy added, while expertly taking a sample of the blood on the dead man’s knife. “Only that the Weevils would remove the chips – they seem to be sensitive to the signal those send out – so good, old-fashioned observation is the only option left.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Swanson shuddered. “The few times I’ve come up close to them were enough for a lifetime.”

“I don’t blame you,” Tosh glanced at her watch. “Well, guys, let’s go back to base. There’s nothing else for us to do here.”

“Shouldn’t you try tracking back the residual Rift energy to figure out where the murderer has gone?” Jack asked, while Mickey and Andy were already heading back to the SUV.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Jack; and that’s why we need to go back to the Hub,” Tosh replied tiredly. “With Trevor’s help, I’ve updated the scanners of the base, so that we can track any unusual energy signatures all over Cardiff. _If_ the killer has come through the Rift, we’re supposed to be able to find him.”

“You’re _supposed_ to?” Jack repeated sceptically.

Tosh shrugged. “This is a brand new installation. We haven’t got the chance to see how it works… until now.”

“You’ve made quite a lot of changes while I was gone,” Jack commented.

Tosh shrugged again. “Well, I’m a scientist, Jack. I prefer the scientific method to just running in headfirst, guns blazing, and Ianto lets me do things my way. Besides,” she added quietly, “when one of _us_ dies, we _stay_ dead. So we kind of try to avoid the dying part.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
That was, of course, very true, and Jack couldn’t find a proper answer. They got into the SUV, taking the back seats, where Tosh could continue working on her laptop, and Andy took the driver’s seat, declaring that he wanted to get back in one piece, thank you very much. Mickey wasn’t very happy with that and looked as if he’d want to fight about it, but a look at Tosh made him reconsider. Jack was secretly impressed how well Tosh had the volatile young man under control. She was tiny but feisty under that timid geeky exterior, and now that she’d been put in charge, it showed, too.

Andy turned out to be a very good driver, which wasn’t really surprising from an ex-cop. He got them back to the Hub in record time, without even violating any traffic rules.

“I’m taking this sample to Lloyd,” he said, getting out of the car. “Mickey, can you give the SUV a thorough check? Your little stunt while we were chasing the Blowfish might have dislocated something, and who knows when we’ll need the car again.”

“Yes, _Massa_ ,” Mickey grunted disdainfully.

Andy gave him a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous! I could give it a look, too, but you’ve got a better chance to spot anything that isn’t as it ought to be. You’re the car mechanic, after all; I’m just a beat cop. An ex-beat cop,” he corrected himself before he started to climb the stairs leading into the main Hub area.

Jack suppressed a grin. It seemed that Mickey hadn’t really changed that much, despite having spent some time in a parallel universe, playing action hero. He made a mental note to ask him how he’d managed to get back… and why.

Tosh’s mobile phone rang as she was getting out of the SUV, and she nodded with a relieved expression when she saw the caller’s ID.

“Doctor Connelly, it’s so good of you to call back. Yes, one of _those_ cases. No, it’s a species already in our database; we just need a full anatomical mapping. So, when could you come over and do the autopsy? Yes, tomorrow would be fine, barred any emergencies. We’ll keep the body in the morgue for you. Nineteen hundred? Excellent. See you then.”

She disconnected and touched her earpiece. “Emma? Doctor Angela Connelly is coming to do the autopsy on the Blowfish at nineteen hundred tomorrow. Can you see that she gets in without being seen? There’s no need for anyone to know she’s doing freelance work for Torchwood. Thanks.”

“Why would you need an outsider to do the autopsy?” Jack asked, bewildered. “What happened to Owen?”

“Owen’s been suspended,” Tosh replied, heading for the stars in Andy’s wake.

 _That_ baffled Jack even more. “What for? Has he refused to take orders from the new _director_?” he emphasized the word, dripping with sarcasm.

But Tosh was not taking the bait.

“Medical reasons,” she answered simply. “He was unable to deal with the guilt about having killed you.”

“But I _forgave_ him!” Jack was still not getting it. “I forgave you all, haven’t I?”

“You have, and I do believe that you meant it,” Tosh replied. “But you also left us, only moments later, running away with a big smile on your face – we saw you on the CCTV - and Owen wasn’t the only one who found it hard to deal with _that_ , you know. At least I can understand that you wanted to return to the Doctor; I’ve met him, too. But the others – Gwen, Owen and especially Ianto – could only see that you left us; and left us _happily_.”

“It turned out a lot less happy a reunion than I’ve hoped for,” Jack said grimly. Tosh nodded.

“I can imagine. If the security vids of Headquarters are any indication, he’s changed a lot; and not just on the outside. I’m sorry he couldn’t help you, though.”

“He didn’t even try,” Jack laughed humourlessly. “I’m an impossible thing, did you know that?”

“Of course,” Tosh deadpanned. “I’ve been working for you for _years_. One kind of notices the impossible part after a while.”

They both laughed, this time more honestly, and then Jack returned to the original topic.

“So, Owen…?”

Tosh shrugged. “He… he just _snapped_ , you know? After it became clear that you wouldn’t come back any time soon, he began drinking rather heavily; even tried to shoot himself once, but his hand was trembling so much that he missed, thank God. I think all those things, with Diane, with the Weevil fight club, _and_ with Abaddon and your leaving, proved too much for him, in the end.”

“I see,” Jack found this news deeply disturbing. “Where’s he now?”

“He’s in _Providence Park_ , undergoing therapy,” Tosh replied. “We hope he’ll be able to return one day and take over at least _some_ of his duties again, but it will take time. No-one could tell us how much time.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said sincerely. “He could be a pain in the arse, and that not in a good way, but deep down he’s a decent guy. I know you’ve got feelings for him…”

“ _Had_ ,” Tosh corrected. “I’m over it now… over _him_. He’d hurt me once too often; I decided that I won’t put up with that kind of abuse any longer.”

“Good for you,” Jack said. “And since we’re talking about old colleagues anyway, what’s become of Gwen? I mean, aside from being fired and Retconned? Has she gone back to the police?”

“Oh, no, they wouldn’t have her back!” Tosh tossed open the door leading to the main Hub area. “For a while she worked as a temp for _Harwood's_ , the firm where Rhys got a job as a manager, but… well, you know how bossy she can get when she thinks she’s right…”

“… which means every time she opens her mouth,” Jack said with rueful fondness. He liked Gwen, he really did, but she could be a real trial sometimes.

Tosh nodded. “Well, the bosses at _Harwood's_ didn’t get mesmerized by her hypnotic eyes the way _you_ used to,” she said. “She’s gotten herself fired within the month – _and_ Rhys, too. That poor man had worked like a slave for _years_ to get that job, and Gwen ruined it for him in barely more than three weeks. That was when they broke up.”

“They did _what_?” Now Jack was completely baffled. “I thought nothing short of the end of the world could separate those two. Even if she cheated on him from time to time. He always forgave her for everything.”

“Well, yes, Gwen found someone more to her liking and simply left him,” Tosh said. “Packed his suitcases and placed them in front of the door of their shared flat, too. It wasn’t pretty; losing one’s dream job and long-time girlfriend _and_ the flat he’d been paying for all the time on one lousy day.”

“And where’s Rhys now?” Jack asked, making a mental note to look up the poor guy. After all, he _was_ responsible for this whole mess… to a certain extent. Had he not hired Gwen in the first place, perhaps none of this would have happened.

“He’s here,” Tosh answered, stepping aside, so that Jack could enter, too.

Only from this angle did he see the small office that had been established next to Ianto’s kitchenette. The door of the little room stood ajar, revealing a desk within; a desk with a computer and a phone on it. Behind the desk sat Rhys Williams, talking to someone on the phone about the delivery of foodstuffs to the tourist office on the following day.


	3. Tracking the Time Traveller

**CHAPTER 03 – TRACKING THE TIME TRAVELLER**

“Rhys?” Jack muttered in open-mouthed shock. “Ianto has fired Gwen and hired _Rhys_ instead?”

“And a lucky move it was, one that we all appreciate,” Tosh answered. “Rhys has taken over logistics and general support from Ianto; he organizes the exchange of information and artefacts between Glasgow, Torchwood House and us, keeps us fed when we’d forget to eat and sometimes even mans the tourist office, when Emma is needed in the Archives.”

“Does he feed the Weevils, too?” Jack asked sarcastically. “What a stellar career for an ex-manager!”

“No; Mickey does that,” Tosh replied, a little sharply. “He’s used to aliens and doesn’t mind taking care of them. He says it’s like having pets. Dangerous, overgrown pets; but he likes them nonetheless. Rhys has the full responsibility for the asylum on Flat Holm and its inhabitants, though, and he does an excellent job of it.”

“Flat Holm?” Jack repeated in disbelief. “Ianto entrusted Flat Holm to _Rhys_?”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Tosh asked, a little impatient now. “Rhys is a decent bloke, well-organized, practical-minded and compassionate. The caregivers of the asylum are full of praise. He also oversees all the safe houses, giving _us_ enough time to deal with aliens, their technology and the upcoming apocalypse of the week. As the director of the only fully functional Torchwood branch, Ianto now has the responsibility for the whole organization – just as _you_ used to have after Canary Wharf. The only difference is that he actually _cares_ what happens to those _not_ belonging to Cardiff.”

Jack felt as if he’d been slapped – hard! – but he had to admit that Tosh was right. He never truly cared what would become of Archie, or of the custodian of Torchwood House – or of the handful of survivors of Torchwood One. As he liked to say, he had severed ties with London years ago, and wasn’t the least interested in their activities… or in their surviving members. With the exception of one Ianto Jones, and even Ianto had to force himself into Torchwood Three, with all tricks that remarkable mind of his had managed to come up with.

Could he really blame Ianto for reaching out to his fellow survivors, now that he’d been made the boss? Even though the idea of having ex-Torchwood One personnel on _his_ base irritated the hell out of Jack.

Only that it was no longer _his_ base, was it? It was _Ianto’s_ base now, and whether Ianto would actually want him to be here or not was a question that needed to be answered yet. And if Ianto did not, what could he do? He’d been Torchwood for so long, he couldn’t even imagine a life outside it. Not for a long while yet.

“Do you think Ianto would let me come back?” he answered quietly. The lingering fear in his voice made Tosh’s mood soften at once.

“Why wouldn’t he? We still need you.”

“Not really,” Jack pointed out. “The team is almost twice as big as it used to be before I left; you’ve got all positions covered.”

“I wish we had,” Tosh answered ruefully. “We’re still understaffed and need people with the right qualifications to work for us. Now that we finally have enough people for the daily tasks and I actually can afford the time to do some serious research on some of the alien tech that comes through the Rift, I’m constantly wondering how we managed with such a ridiculously small team before. No wonder that we were so inadequate for most of the problems we had to deal with.”

“We managed well enough!” Jack protested, more than a little insulted on his old team’s behalf.

Tosh shook her head, her eyes dark and haunted with memories.

“No, Jack, we did _not_. We were constantly sleep-deprived and overworked and prone to make mistakes – sometimes fatal ones – because we were improvising as we went along. We had superior technology, granted, but not nearly enough manpower. We only managed to stay above water – barely! – because you didn’t need much sleep and didn’t stay dead when killed. Small wonder that Suzie went mad, Owen started drinking – and you never realized that Ianto kept a half-converted Cyberman in your own basement. We all were more than a little crazy.”

“And now you are not?” Jack asked sceptically. “This is your solution? To go the way One had gone?”

“When you left, we had to find a more professional way to deal with things, since we’re just ordinary human beings,” Tosh replied, her tone sharpening again. “It was either that, or hand over everything to UNIT. And _that_ was something neither of us wanted to do. Not even Owen, in his rare lucid moments.”

“So you chose to go the way of Headquarters instead,” Jack said.

“If you mean that we’re trying to build a team of scientists and experts who actually _can_ deal with alien technology, including sufficient back-up in case someone is not available, then yes, you’re right,” Tosh countered. “And I for my part am glad that we can finally do more than just hop from one place to another to pick up the flotsam and jetsam the Rift spies into our faces. That we have people like Andy and Mickey for Weevil hunting, because honestly, something like _that_ was never my personal ambition.”

Jack couldn’t blame her for that. He had originally recruited Tosh because of her genius, which, frankly, had been wasted performing such menial tasks as covering up mysterious deaths caused by Weevils or by random, malfunctioning alien technology, while the really important, ground-breaking discoveries had been put on the back burner, due to the lack of sufficient personnel doing the foot work.

Tosh’s abilities enabled – no, pre-destined – her for work like refining sonic technology, not for dealing with random, murderous aliens or in-bred cannibals in the countryside. And yet _that_ had been the major part of her job during Jack’s leadership.

Which, in hindsight, made Jack wonder whether his leadership had truly been that good. Had _his_ Torchwood truly been a new and reformed thing when the individual members of his team had got broken, one after another? Or had he been too obsessed with the idea of impressing the Doctor to see what it had done to the people working for him?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Having made her point, Tosh walked into the main working area, waving at Rhys on her way in. Rhys waved back, still speaking into the phone and studiously ignored Jack. Still no love lost between the two of them; Rhys apparently blamed _him_ for the loss of Gwen, which, Jack had to admit, wasn’t entirely unreasonable.

Sally Jacobs looked up from her workstation as they entered.

“Tosh, I’ve spoken to Ianto. He’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” she said. “He wants to be here when that Blowfish is obducted.”

“I thought he would,” Tosh grinned. “You didn’t tell him anything about Jack, did you?”

“Of course not!” Sally snorted. “We all want to see him lose his calm, just once.”

“But only in a good way,” Tosh said. “I’ve seen the other kind; it wasn’t pretty. Now, have you found anything on our fish-head?”

Sally nodded. “Actually, we have,” she handed Tosh a small, beeping, blinking pyramid, made of some unknown metallic alloy. “This was in one of his pockets – although _what_ it could be, I have no idea. I’ve run the parameters through the Virtual Archives, but they didn’t come up with any results, either where the design or where the alloy is concerned.”

“Hmmm… Tosh turned the pyramid around a few times, examining it from all sides. “Looks like a piece of some three-dimensional puzzle to me; there are clear ridges to be joined with other pieces along the lower edges. Jack, have you ever seen anything like this?”

Jack shook his head. “No, but this is a big universe. I’d put it into a containment box if I were you.”

“Thanks, Jack, but I know the procedure; _you’ve_ taught me on my first day with Torchwood, in case you’ve forgotten,” Tosh handed the thing back to Sally. “Well, you heard the man. Ask Emma to put it in the secured storeroom later, just in case. Does it give out any radiation, or radio signals or whatnot?”

“It does seem to send out some sort of signal,” Sally replied, while Andy fetched her a containment box from what had once been Jack’s office. “But it’s a frequency I’ve never messed before. I’ve made a record, just in case.”

“Show me,” Jack said.

Sally glanced at Tosh for confirmation. When it came, she dropped the pyramid into the containment box, sealed it, and then turned the flat screen of her computer to Jack.

Jack studied the recording on screen for a moment, frowning.

“Familiar?” Tosh asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah; this is a rare frequency indeed, even centuries into the future, it will be used by secret government agencies only, mostly for identification purposes.”

“What agencies?” Sally asked.

“The Time Agency, for starters,” Jack said. “The one I used to work for.”

“ _Time_ Agency?” Sally repeated. “What the hell is that?”

“An organization whose express purpose was – well, actually _will be_ – to preserve the timeline,” Jack explained. “They – _we_ – deal with the aftermath of mistakes and violations at a time when time travel will become a pretty average event. However, due to the danger of changing history irreparably, people need official authorization to go on such trips, and there are strict rules what one is and what one isn’t allowed to do in other time periods. If someone violates the rules, for whatever reason, the Time Agency will go after them. The wrist straps, like mine, enable Time Agents to go on missions through time and correct such mistakes… by any means necessary. Only that mine no longer works.”

“So, basically, you used to be a time cop, hunting down unauthorized time travellers who caused trouble in the time periods they visited; like the fish-head in the morgue,” Trevor summarized.

Jack nodded. “Basically, yeah. It’s a bit more complicated, though.”

“Isn’t it always?” Tosh commented softly, but Trevor’s analytical mind has already arrived at the next phase of the problem.

“So, does this mean that one of your fellow time cops is on the loose in Cardiff?” he asked.

“It _is_ possible,” Jack admitted, “although by no means certain. As I said, several other agencies used the same frequency.”

“Did those agencies also travel in time?” Trevor asked.

“Not that I’d know of,” Jack replied. “I see your point. Yes, there’s a strong possibility that another Time Agent is involved in this whole mess.”

“Can you track them with the help of your wrist strap?” Tosh asked. She still wasn’t entirely sure what Jack’s wrist strap could actually do, but she’d seen him use it for the most unlikely tasks.

Jack, however, shook his head.

“Theoretically, I would be able, yeah. But several functions stopped working when my vortex manipulator burned out upon arriving on Earth, and the Doctor never cared to fix them.”

“I can take a look,” Tosh offered.

Jack smiled apologetically. “No offence, Tosh, I know you’re brilliant, but this technology is way beyond even you.”

“Which still doesn’t mean I can’t fix it, though,” Tosh replied, only moderately insulted. “Don’t underestimate me, Jack.”

“I don’t, I swear! But for this, you’d need a kind of science that hasn’t even been born yet.”

Tosh shrugged. “It’s your choice, of course. If you’re happy to walk around with a time-travelling teleport that _doesn’t_ work, do it. Now, Sally,” she turned back to their communications expert, “I want you to run a citywide scan on this particular frequency and map all places where it can be registered. We’ll have to track down this Time Agent, or whatever it is, with our methods.”

“Shall I cross-reference with Rift activity?” Jacobs asked.

Tosh looked at Jack. “Should she?”

Jack shook his head. “If it’s really a Time Agent, he didn’t come through the Rift. He’d have his own vortex manipulator. You can scan for vortex energy, though; he’d be saturated with it. All time travellers are. It’s harmless, like background radiation, but it’s there, and it can be identified and measured.”

“Can you give me the specifications?” Sally asked.

Jack nodded and quickly typed the equations into her computer.

“You might not be able to track it,” he warned. “It’s very faint; all depends on how sensitive your scanners are.”

“We’ll have to give it a try,” Tosh said. “Trevor, work with Sally. Tell me if you’ve found anything. I’m going to see how Lloyd is doing with that DNA sample.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Jack was surprised by the umpteenth time since his return to find the small DNA lab – previously an empty storeroom – opening directly from the autopsy room. Owen had kept there his supplies sometimes, but otherwise it had been little used during Jack’s regency. Now it looked like something borrowed from the medical bay of the Starship _Enterprise_ , even though all that high-tech equipment barely left them enough room to stand behind Lloyd’s chair.

On the flat screen the first results of the DNA analysis were already running. Jack was fairly sure that not even the best research labs on Earth had come close to the medical computers used here – frankly, he couldn’t remember them at all. They must have come from Torchwood London; some labs of the main branch used to have an interest in alien genetics, even if Yvonne, personally, had not.

“This is human blood in any case,” Lloyd said, highlighting certain portions of the double helix on the screen. “But there are a few factors that cannot be found in the genetic make-up of the average human being.”

“You mean a mutation?” Tosh asked. Lloyd shook her head.

“No; my guess would be genetic engineering, and a fairly high level of that. I’m no doctor, of course, but the differences seem too… deliberate, too well-ordered for a spontaneous genetic mutation.”

“But how is that possible?” Tosh asked with a frown. “Genetic engineering is still in its earliest phases on Earth – we’re a log way from being able to make controlled changes in the human genome. We simply don’t have the means to do _this_.”

“Not yet,” Jack said quietly. “Don’t forget, though: we might have been dealing with a time traveller here.”

“You mean he might have come from the future?” Tosh asked. Jack nodded. “ _How_ far in the future?”

“My own time, most likely,” Jack said grimly. “The Time Agency was – _will be_ – created some seventy years before my birth. It was a relatively new organization.”

“Which means what exactly?” Tosh pressed. “You never told us which time you actually come from.”

“Fifty-first century,” Jack replied; then he looked at Lloyd. “Compare the sample with the one Torchwood has from me; if the genetic markers are similar, then this guy does come from my time.”

Lloyd glanced at Tosh, who nodded, and ran the cross-reference between the unknown blood sample and Jack’s DNA. An almost shockingly short time later, the big green letters MATCH FOUND flashed across the screen.

“Well, we _have_ our answer,” Lloyd said as the first shock settled. “What are we going to do with it?”

“Trying to track this guy as well as we can,” Tosh answered with a shrug, “and hope he won’t kill any more people before we find him.”

“I won’t be so sure about that,” Jack said quietly. “The Time Agency was – _will_ be – a ruthless organization; not one bit better than UNIT or Old School Torchwood used to be.”

“Is that why you left them?” Tosh asked. Jack nodded.

“In a sense, yeah. They took two years of my life; wiped all memories of those years from my mind. I wanted to keep the rest of my sanity and perhaps find out what had really happened and why they had done it.”

“Have you succeeded?” Lloyd inquired.

“Definitely not with the second part of the plan,” Jack laughed mirthlessly. “As for the first part, judgement is still off about that.”

“So, this other time cop might not be just a killer; he might also be a crazed killer,” Tosh said.

“Afraid so, yeah,” Jack admitted. “Not one of us was exactly sane. But at least we had a good time… for a while.”

“All right,” Tosh said. “I’ll have an automatic scan running for this guy all the time, but we won’t go in without reinforcements – and most certainly not during the night,” she stepped back into the main area. “Who’s got graveyard shift?”

“Trevor and me,” Jacobs answered. “And Mickey’s the one on emergency call tonight.”

“Fine,” Tosh said. “The Hub is all yours. All others: go home! I want everyone back, well-rested and properly caffeinated, at seven a.m. Even though we’ll all have to do with Starbuck’s until Ianto’s back.”

“I’d like to do some research on these anomalous DNA markers,” Lloyd said.

“Tomorrow,” Tosh replied, “or preferably after this particular crisis has been dealt with. The usual restrictions apply.”

“Of course,” Lloyd saved her data and shut down her computer. “As I said, I’m not a doctor… just curious.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“What are the usual restrictions?” Jack asked, after the others had said their good-byes and left.

“All research is done to satisfy scientific curiosity or to determine whether a piece of unknown technology could present any imminent danger for the general population,” Tosh quoted. “Any attempts of practical use must be sanctioned by the Director _and_ the Head Researcher.”

“Which would be you, right?” Jack said. 

It wasn’t really a question. Tosh had clearly come into her own; she had grown a great deal during his absence. And while it was nice to see her lingering fear and insecurities gone, Jack found that he missed the old Tosh. _His_ Tosh, his shy little genius who went in awe of him.

“That would be me, yes,” Tosh agreed. “We’re trying very hard to make sure that a disaster like Canary Wharf won’t happen again. _Ever_.”

“With Yvonne’s leftovers working for you?” Jack asked doubtfully.

Tosh let out an impatient sigh. “Jack, do you really think that anyone who’d managed to survive the horrors of Canary Wharf and _still_ wants to work for Torchwood – like Ianto or Trevor – won’t do their best to prevent a repeat performance? If anyone, _they_ know the consequences of such mistakes.”

“ _If_ they’ve learned from those mistakes,” Jack countered.

Tosh rolled her eyes. “You gave _Ianto_ a second chance; actually, even a third one, after that near-disaster with his cyber-girlfriend. Why are you so unreasonable when it comes to the others? Just because you don’t have the hots for them, like you had for Ianto at first sight? That’s hardly professional!”

“I had my reason to mistrust Old School Torchwood politics,” Jack said stubbornly.

“I’m sure you did, if the old files Ianto’s dug out are any indication,” Tosh replied. “You seem to forget, though, that the atrocities you suffered were mostly Torchwood _Three_ ’s doing. You didn’t’ have much to do with Headquarters until many years later… at which time you were already under the Brigadier’s protection,” she glanced at her watch. “Sorry, but it’s late and I’m dead on my feet. I need to go home and sleep at least six hours. Tomorrow promises to be another long and hard day.”

“Still sleep-deprived, eh? Despite the much bigger team?”

“Still hopelessly understaffed,” Tosh replied with a shrug. “Plus, I’ve got to deal with trivialities while Ianto’s away. Bigger staff, more trivialities,” she hid a heartfelt yawn behind her hand. “Where are _you_ gonna spend the night?”

Jack shrugged. “Dunno. I don’t suppose my place under the office still exist, does it?”

“Why shouldn’t it?” Tosh asked in surprise. “Jack, no-one touched _anything_ you left behind; and no-one has entered your place. Ianto cleans it regularly, but that’s basically all. It’s still there, the same as always.”

“Do you think I can sleep in my own bed then?” Jack smiled wistfully.

Tosh stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Of course you can, don’t be daft! It’s _your_ place; the only one you’ve had since you took over Torchwood Three. Everything down there’s exactly how you left it – well, according to Ianto, since neither of us could tell aside from him. Go and rest – you like you need it in the worst way.”

“There’s some truth in that,” Jack admitted ruefully.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tosh left then, promising the graveyard shift that she’ll be back in the morning, early on, and Jack finally dared to enter his office – _Ianto_ ’s office, as it was now. It was a little like stepping back in time to meet his past self.

At first sight, it didn’t show all that many differences, save from the fact that it was very neat – much neater than it had ever been during _his_ time – and that the desk had been turned at an angle to the large round window, which looked out over the central Hub, so that the occupant working behind it could see down to the workplace platform.

Jack couldn’t help but smile. How typical for Ianto to want to be able to see how his people were doing! You could take Ianto Jones out of the job of their caretaker, but you couldn’t make him stop _caring_. That was simply his _nature_.

As he took a second, closer look, Jack discovered other, more significant differences. For example, the doors on other side of the office, leading to the workspace platform doors, had been removed, together with the small area located by the stairs down to the Interrogation Room that also led out into the central Hub, close to the Armoury. 

Jack had used this area to keep there all newfound pieces of alien tech he had judged worth his personal interest, which had made the place really cluttered. The office now extended out into the space that display area had used to fill and seemed airier, more ordered and more comfortable. More like an environment _Ianto_ would prefer to work in.

The light-box displays were gone, too, and so were the arcade video games Owen had used to play – probably moved to a different room or, in the case of the artefacts, to the Archives. Only the transparent map near the railing looking down over the interrogation room remained in its old place, while the sterilizer unit must have been moved to some sort of lab area.

Despite those changes, though, the office was indeed much the same as he had left him, and that filled his heart with warmth. Even the coat stand was there, near the ladder on the back wall that led to the secure room for particularly dangerous artefacts, by the safe and the bank of surveillance monitors.

Jack hesitated for a moment before shrugging off his greatcoat and hanging it on the coat stand; after all, it was _Ianto_ ’s office now. But the familiar routine made him feel unexpectedly at _home_ ; he hoped Ianto wouldn’t mind the intrusion. Why else would he have kept the coat stand?

Descending through the hole in the floor into his old room was another thing that felt so very familiar. Originally designed as a bunker where the Torchwood Three leader – whoever it was – could hide and (hopefully) survive in a case of emergency, this dark little hole had been the only home he had known for years. Strangely enough, it never induced any claustrophobic feelings; not even now, after his year-long imprisonment aboard the _Valiant_.

If the office above had changed relatively little, his private quarters had not changed at all. Tosh had been right: everything was exactly as he had left it, running out headfirst after the Doctor. The books, the technical knick-knacks, all were on their usual place. His clothes, laundered or dry-cleaned, hung in neat order in his tiny wardrobe. The shower cell was so clean it would have blinked, had it not been so dark down here… even the bed was made, the linens crisp and white, waiting for him to lie down and rest.

He recognized Ianto’s hand in all this, and his throat tightened. If anything, the Year That Never Was had taught him _not_ to take anything – or _anyone_ – for granted. To appreciate small kindnesses for the rare thing they were in a cold and utterly indifferent universe.

He took off his clothes and showered, going through the old routine as if remotely controlled. Trying to find his way back to the Jack Harkness he’d used to be a year – and several hundred deaths – before. But as he crept between the welcoming sheets, naked as he always slept (in the rare cases he actually _dared_ to sleep since Time had realigned itself), he knew things would never be as they had used to be.

He might be back to Torchwood, back to his old team – but his old team was gone, fallen to pieces, and the Torchwood Cardiff he had used to know, the one he had built with a hand-picked little group of misfits, broken by the cruelty of fate, had changed beyond recognition. It wasn’t _his_ Torchwood any longer; and he himself was a broken man, in more ways than he would care to count. They _might_ want him still, he _could_ still be useful for them, but he was beginning to wonder whether he would be able to fit in, even if they – which meant Ianto – would be willing to let him be part of Torchwood again.

He had rejected the Doctor’s offer to travel with him out of responsibility for his old team… well, that had been _part_ of the reason anyway. He had hoped that returning to his old duties would keep him occupied enough for the all-too-vivid memories of a whole year of torture and death after creative, often prolonged and always _very_ painful death to fade enough for him to be able to lead a semi-normal life again.

Now he wasn’t so sure about that anymore. This new Torchwood had its well-organized working schedule – a result of Ianto’s organizing talents, no doubt. It had _nearly_ enough people to allow everyone the basic amount of rest, so that they could do their jobs without burning the candle on both ends. Which was doubtlessly a good thing where everyone else was concerned – Tosh certainly seemed more than happy about it – but Jack _dreaded_ the time of respite. That would allow him to think... and to _remember_ – both things he tried to avoid at any costs in these days.

He had not needed much sleep since Rose had turned him into an immortal freak. He had preferred to stand atop some tall building all night and watch the city – _his_ city – slumber in peace under his watchful eye. Sleep was the time when the nightmares came – had been since his childhood, since the attack that had robbed him of his family.

Becoming immortal had the advantage that he could go on on even less sleep for a considerably longer time. It wasn’t so as if he could die from sleep deprivation, after all. And even if he did, he would come back again, so it didn’t really matter.

The only times when the nightmares left him alone had been the ones when he slept in the arms of a lover. Casual bed partners did not count – he would never fall asleep next to those. But people whom he truly loved always seemed to create a barrier around him; to keep his demons at bay. Those had been rare moments of peace he longed for with an intensity that almost physically hurt.

Now, after having seen the end of the world and having died several hundred times during the Year That Never Was, the number of his demons had increased tenfold. He had no idea how to live with them; how to keep the shards of his sanity intact.

The worst part was that he didn’t even have the luxury to commit suicide, should the terrors become too much to bear.


	4. Adrift in a Sea of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We never actually learn anything concrete about Jack’s home – or about the “horrible creatures” that invaded their colony. So I’ve taken a great deal of poetic licence to create a more detailed background. 
> 
> Living conditions on the planets mentioned are very loosely based on the suggestions of the book “What If The Moon Didn’t Exist?” by Neil F. Comins. It’s a fantastic book, go and read it.
> 
> As for the names: I created a system in which the children are named in the order of the Greek alphabet. So firstborns’ names always begin with an A (= Alpha), secondborns’ names with a B (= Beta), thirdborns’ names with a G (= Gamma), and so on. The –yu suffix indicates a male child, the –ah suffix a female one. Reaching puberty, people were supposed to undergo the naming ceremony, in which they lay down their childhood names, and choose their final ones.

**CHAPTER 04 – ADRIFT IN A SEA OF MEMORIES**

The small boy stood on the sandy shore, alone, watching the waves. They were rolling towards the shore, flattening, spraying white gist upon the wet sand, and then rolling back towards the open sea again. He could have watched their tireless movement for hours.

The boy was wearing baggy trousers and a hooded jacket of the same bleached colour as the sand, and a white cloth wrapped loosely around his neck, in case a sudden sandstorm would rise from the not-so-far-away deserts of the mainland. All people living on Boeshane Peninsula went prepared for the storms all the time, as they hit unexpected and without forewarning.

Granstar, as the locals called the massive blue-white sun of the system, was already falling towards the horizon, thus the boy no longer needed the protective sunglasses against its almost painful brightness. They hung around his neck, just above his light cloth scarf – another precaution demanded by the living conditions of a hot, arid planet.

Suddenly, a humming sound could be heard from above, like the humming of angry insects, an entire swarm perhaps, but still far, far away. The boy whirled around and ran. They had lived under the threat of invasion all his life; all children had been taught and trained what to do when they heard that particular sound. So he ran.

Running in the sand was hard; it seemed to suck in his boots, slowing him down. He was relieved when he reached the patch of short, rough grass, almost the same bleached colour as the sand. The grass was about ankle-height and unpleasantly scratchy, but at least it was hard. One could run better there.

He caught up with his sire, who was running, too, dragging his little brother by the hand. The boy was tiring already, his long curls sticking wetly to his forehead. His elder stopped abruptly, tossing the little boy to the older brother.

“Run, Atreyu!” he gasped. “Take Garayu! Keep him safe!”

“No, no, Dad!” the older boy protested. “Come with us!”

“No,” his sire said. “No, I've got to go get your mother. Run! You’re the firstborn – save your brother. He’s your responsibility.”

With that, the man whose mere presence had always meant safety to him turned around and started running back towards the township: a seemingly haphazard agglomeration of buildings that looked like a great many portacabins stacked together, yet was nonetheless highly functional and provided the small colony with suitable protection against the often harsh weather conditions of their homeworld.

The humming sound became louder, almost a howling, and it startled the older boy out of his shock. He grabbed the hand of his brother and started running, too, away from the township, as he’d been taught. It had been the general opinion that the creatures – unless they passed over them like they always did – would go directly for the inhabited area.

Those theories proved terribly wrong on that day. That time, the creatures – streamlined shapes like huge, silver fish – did _not_ pass over them, and there were enough of them to go for both the township _and_ for the people running for their lives on the beach.

Holding the sweaty little hand of his brother as tightly as he could, Atreyu ran. As the A in his name signalled – standing for _Aleph_ , the First – he was the eldest child of the family group, responsible for all the younger ones.

At least in peacetime, when that responsibility only included the duty to find them should they wander off from the grassy fields to the further, more treacherous sands.

Right now, however, he was just a frightened young boy.

He ran in stark terror as the huge silver fish in the skies swept lower, spitting whining beams of fiery death, people falling all around them like cut grass. He ran blindly, driven by mindless fear, until he recognized his favourite hideout: a large enough hole in the ground, under the roots of a gnarled old tree. He slipped in, in a great hurry, and then he just sat there, hugging his knees tightly, trembling.

When the noises of death and destruction faded away, he still stayed there for a long while yet, not trusting the sudden silence. Then he finally climbed out – and realized that his little brother was _not_ with him. He could not remember when he had let go of the boy’s hand. He simply could not remember.

Anxious about Garayu’s fate, and well aware that he had failed in his responsibility towards a younger sibling, he began to retract his steps, hoping to see the boy again.

“Gray? Gray?” he cried out in despair, using the boy’s ridiculous pet name by which only his birthmother ever called him. “Gray! Gray, where are you? Gray!”

But there was no answer. Nor did he ever find the body of Gray… or that of any other child. There were dead bodies scattered across the grassy field between the beach and the township, but they were all adults. The children were just – gone.

All, save from him.

He started running back towards the township, hoping that he would find his sire, or one of his other fathers… anyone who could help him. They could not _all_ be dead! He was just a boy; he needed the help of an adult, any adult!

Granstar had already sunk behind the mountains when he reached the curved sandstone building that had been the home of their family group, but the skies were still very bright. Bright enough to spot the broken, bleeding body of his sire, lying in front of the house.

He was dead.

Atreyu fell to his knees, and even though deep within he knew that there was no help, he tried to shake his sire awake, pleading.

“Dad? No! Can someone help? Please!”

As if answering his pleas, a woman ran out of the house, her short hair bleached to the colour of the planet’s endless sand deserts. It was Bethulah, Garayu’s birthmother, the youngest female spouse of the family group. She swept to the body of her senior husband and collapsed over it, sobbing and wailing.

“Fraenclyn? Fraenclyn, not you, too! Please, please, wake up!”

“Mom?” Atreyu said hesitatingly. 

She wasn’t his birthmother, and she had always disliked him, jealous of his status as the eldest child while her own son was only the third-born, but right now she seemed to be the only adult alive. She would help him, wouldn’t she? He was only a boy himself, still years away from his naming ceremony; he could not manage on his own, not yet!

She whirled around, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him so hard that his teeth rattled.

“Where's Gray?” she demanded accusingly. “Where's Gray? Where is he, son? Where is he? You were supposed to look after him!”

“I’ve lost him,” Atreyu admitted, weeping in grief and shame. “We were running so fast. One moment, his hand was in mine, and then… I don’t know… I don't know when he let go. I thought he was there, just behind me!”

Bethulah tossed him away with a force that had him flying to the ground. He hit his head on a stone, and when he felt it, his fingers came back sticky with his own blood.

“No, not my little boy!” Bethulah screamed. “Not my little boy! This is your fault! _You_ let go of his hand, and now he’s gone!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Jack woke up with a desperate gasp for air. The images had been so vivid, so detailed – never before had he been able to remember so much from his childhood. He assumed the constant exposal to the Master’s telepathic field must have had something to do with it, because to be honest, that was the last thing he would want to remember: the worst day of his life, when everything came crushing down onto his head.

After _that_ , life had never been the same.

The invaders had all but levelled the little township. They had killed all the adults they could find and taken the children with them on their atmospheric gliders to the mothership hovering over the planet, just outside the atmosphere. No-one had ever learned what had become of the children, or why they had been taken.

As a child, Jack had been told that the invaders were the most horrible creatures one could possibly imagine. In his youthful naïveté, he had believed for many years that they must have been some monstrous, three-headed aliens, capable of breathing poison or spitting fire. Only much later, when he had signed up for the Time Agency, did he realize that they were something infinitely worse.

They were human beings, like the ones they had massacred. Well, not _exactly_ like them. They were – or rather _would be_ – the result of a colonization effort gone terribly wrong.

Their ancestors would settle on an Earth-like planet in the Magna Laternis system, somewhen in the early forty-third century, ignoring the warnings of the scientists that Magna, the system’s sun (the same one Jack’s people would call Granstar later), had a fifteen per cent greater mass than the sun of the Earth, and even though the planet of their choice was almost three times farther away from it than the Earth-Sun distance, the consequences for non-indigenous life could be very grave indeed.

The colonists would not listen, and the scientists would prove right. Life on the new planet would prove a walking on razor’s edge, between runaway glaciation and all sorts of harmful effects of high solar winds, extreme ultraviolet radiation and the increased danger from asteroid and comet impacts that would be drawn in by the larger mass of the primary star.

The colony would barely avoid total annihilation by one or more of those forces, time and time again. And even the survivors, although they would come out of each disaster stronger and more determined than before, would _not_ come out of them unscathed.

By the forty-ninth century, wide-spread mutations would have changed the once human colonists beyond recognition. They would become a bipedal species covered with short, very thick fur to protect them from the ultraviolet radiation, and with visor-like brows and particularly deep eye sockets to protect their sensitive eyes. Thick eyelids above secondary, clear nicktating membranes that produced natural lotion to keep the eyes from drying out, would add to that protection.

Basically, they would look like their hominid ancestors had looked millions of years earlier. Like a particularly hirsuite version of _homo erectus_ , only with much bigger brains and without the strong, animal jaws and teeth. Like _homo erectus_ equipped with the highly-developed technology of a space-faring civilization – a technology that included genetic engineering as well, since all those changes, vital though they might have been for the survival of the subspecies, would not have happened in a mere six hundred years.

By the end of the fiftieth century, they would have modified all the technology their ancestors had brought, adapted it to the harsh conditions on their home planet – and would start looking out for a more suitable world on which to live.

They would not have to look very far. It would be known from the beginning that Magna had _two_ habitable planets – the other one only slightly closer to its sun, but its axis tilted in a way that would make _one_ side better suited to support human life. The other side would prove to be a killer desert, completely lifeless and baked hard by the merciless heat of Granstar, but on the shadowy hemisphere life would be possible, even if not easy. 

The two planets had semi-synchronous orbits that would put them on the opposite sides of the sun at all times – a phenomenon astronomers of many species would puzzle over for millennia. It seemed to be impossible, by all what science could tell about astrophysics, and yet the planets were there and showed no sign of their orbits becoming unstable.

The second planet would have also been colonized by then, by a considerably smaller group of people, genetically engineered to deal with the living conditions more easily. People who would want to leave the highly technologized life – and the political machinations – of their planet of origin behind and to lead a simpler, more rustic, more _natural_ life.

Consequently, they would be no match for their aggressive neighbours. They would be like sheep in a slaughterhouse, helpless against their aggressive cousins with all that superior technology – and the superior _weapons_.

The survivors of the little township on Boeshane Peninsula – and those had been but a handful – had fled to another colony, an even more remote, better hidden one. As their family group had become nearly extinct, Jack had been sent to a brother of his birthmother. He would never see Bethulah again. But her accusations, that he had been at fault in Garayu’s fate, would stay with him a life long.

Now, almost two hundred years later in his own relative time, he still felt that old guilt weigh down on his heart heavily. The perspective of living with it for hundreds, thousands… perhaps millions of years was _not_ a pleasant one.

He got out of his sweat-soaked bed and went to have another shower. Sleep didn’t seem so attractive all of a sudden, despite the fact that The Year That Never Was had left him with a bone-deep weariness. He _craved_ sleep like he hadn’t wanted it since having been robbed of his mortality, but at the same time, he dreaded the dreams – the _nightmares_ – that would come with it.

He put on some clean clothes and climbed up to the office again, shrugging on his greatcoat (and missing Ianto helping him into it with almost painful intensity). Then he walked out into the main Hub area, uncertain what to do with himself.

Trevor, the leftover of Torchwood London, sitting at Gwen’s old workplace now, looked up over his wire-rimmed glasses in a detached manner as he heard his footsteps. Jack could see that he was a young man indeed, the baldness a fashion statement rather than the actual loss of hair. The thin goatee made him look a bit older, but even so, he couldn't have been more than perhaps thirty. His eyes, however, belied his appearance; they had the same haunted look as Ianto’s when he accidentally dropped his smooth butler’s mask.

The same look that Jack saw in the mirror every morning.

“Trouble with sleeping?” the young man asked quietly, in the manner of someone with ample experience in that area.

“Too many dreams,” Jack replied curtly. “Too many memories.”

“Yeah,” Trevor said with feeling, not taking offense at Jack’s brusque tone. “Those do tend to give one insomnia.”

“It’s bad enough for us,” Sally Jacobs added, “after only a few years of doing this job. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for _you_.”

So much compassion, coming from people he considered intruders and usurpers, surprised Jack. He took a closer look at the lovely blonde and noticed the same haunted eyes as Trevor's. She just hid it better, due perhaps to the typical female resilience.

“What’s yours?” he asked.

“Sycorax invasion,” Sally replied with a shrug. “Me, standing on the roof of the Tower of London, ready to jump. Only that in the dreams, the telepathic connection _won’t_ break. I jump, and I fall… and fall… and fall… and wake up soaked in cold sweat, at the moment when I hit the ground,” she shuddered.

“Canary Wharf,” Trevor said, without being asked. “I was in the Rift chamber when the Void Ship opened and the Daleks emerged. I saw them crush the skull of Doctor Singh with those sucker arms of theirs. I hear that cracking sound every time I close my eyes. That, and those... _things_ screeching: _Exterminate! Exterminate!_ ”

Jack nodded, suddenly ashamed of his previous reaction to the young man. If anyone, _he_ knew what it meant to face the universe’s most determined, most merciless killers.

“Believe me, I know the feeling,” he said. “I was killed by them, after all; and that time I couldn’t even know that I’d be brought back by…”

“…by Rose Tyler, I know,” Trevor finished. At Jack’s baffled look, he smiled thinly. “As I said, I was there when the Daleks emerged; and so was Rose Tyler, taunting them, gloating about how she had opened the heart of the Doctor’s time machine and unleashed the Time Vortex upon the Dalek Emperor and its army, killing them all. After having discussed things with Tosh, Ianto and Mickey, it wasn’t really hard to figure out how you’ve become… well, whatever you are now.”

“Strange,” Jack said. “I still find it hard to understand myself.”

“I’m speaking of a theoretical approach,” Trevor said. “You see, I’ve got a PhD in cybernetic engineering, and while it’s still parsecs behind Time Lord technology, I have at least an inkling what absorbing pure temporal energy might do to the human body.”

”Well, it’s not a pleasant condition, even if it proves useful from time to time,” Jack answered dryly. Trevor nodded.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “I wouldn’t change places with you for the world. Dying _once_ is bad enough, but that’s the natural way of human existence. Dying again and again, uncounted times, knowing that you’d come back and have to go through that again… it must be Hell.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Jack muttered, his respect for the younger man going up another notch. 

So did his respect for Ianto, who had apparently chosen his people well. Much better than Jack himself, actually, whose record included Suzie, Owen, Gwen… and Ianto himself, who, while highly capable, had nearly destroyed Torchwood Three and the rest of the world with it, out of misguided love.

This was a sobering thought; one in a long line of sobering thoughts he’d had to face since running off with the Doctor.

“Anything interesting going on?” he asked, not quite ready for another round of soul-searching just yet. A Weevil on the loose would have been the right thing for his current mood, but of course the creatures were never around when one needed them.

“No,” Sally shook her head. “The Rift is behaving itself for a change. And a good thing, too; I’ve got a dissertation to finish, and quiet nights are rare.” At Jack’s intrigued look she added, “I’m studying applied mathematics at the Open University. Captain Magambo said I had potential that would be wasted if I continued on as a glorified phone operator at UNIT’s headquarters. My boss disagreed, so I transferred to Torchwood.”

“I bet it wasn’t as easy as it sounds,” Jack said.

“Well, Colonel Mace was a bit grumpy,” Sally admitted, “but Captain Price supported my request for a transfer, and it’s no secret that in the end the Colonel would do anything Marion Price wants him to do.”

Jack laughed. He, too, was aware of the internal gossip about those two – everyone even remotely connected to UNIT was. There had been a reason why Colonel Mace got transferred from the UNIT headquarters to the small base just outside Cardiff, while Captain Price continued working in London.

“Captain Price is a gifted engineer,” Sally added, “and she wants women who have the brains to fulfil their potential. She laid into the Colonel’s ears for as long as it took to get my transfer.”

“Most people wouldn’t consider coming to Torchwood a wise career move,” Jack said. Sally shrugged.

“Yeah, but most people are idiots who don’t know shit,” she replied bluntly. “I like it here. Tosh is a genius, Trevor is very inspiring, the work is full of challenges and surprises, and the coffee is to die for – what else would a girl want from life?”

Jack would have several suggestions, but he recognized a rhetorical question when he heard one. Besides, perhaps Sally was right. Perhaps for people like her – or like Trevor, like Mickey, like Ianto – this was really the best environment. They were all broken people who needed to find meaning again, and Torchwood gave them meaning.

Perhaps this was why things never worked for Gwen. Perhaps one _needed_ to be broken in order to fit in. Gwen had always been too wrapped up in herself to allow _anything_ close enough to break her. She broke other people instead, like Rhys. Or Andy, whose friendship and attraction she had used to get what she wanted, without remorse.

Well, that was another problem Ianto had dealt with successfully. Jack knew he would never have been able to fire Gwen, and even less to Retcon her. She reminded him too much of Rose. Not the Rose who had brought him back from the dead; the naïve girl who blundered into each new adventure cluelessly, making hasty judgements and demanding action with the impatience of a teenager with a mad crush on an older man – which was what she had really been.

Jack, not the sanest, most considerate person at that time himself, had loved her like a little sister. And even now that she had condemned him to eternal loneliness, he could not be angry with her. She had only meant to help, after all – and had not had the brains to foresee the consequences.

Well, she was gone now, safe in a different dimension (about which Jack still needed to question Mickey), and so was Gwen, for which he ought to thank Ianto. Had Gwen remained with Torchwood Three, she would have gotten someone – or the entire team – killed, sooner or later. She had never been one to _listen_ , or to follow orders. At least now there was well-founded hope that the newly hired members would do a lot better.

Still, all those changes would take a lot to get used to. And, as much as Jack didn’t feel like doing anything in that direction, _that_ required a great deal of thinking. Preferably on his favourite rooftop, while looking down at the city.

“I’m going out for a while,” he announced to the graveyard shift. “Can you give me a ring when Ianto’s back?”

Sally grinned. “Brooding time on the rooftop, Captain?”

Jack grinned back at her. He did not need to ask _how_ they would know about that. They were working for Ianto, after all.

“Something like that, yeah,” he admitted. “So, when Ianto gets back…”

“We’ll have you informed,” Sally promised; then she tossed some car keys to him. “Go, have a good brood. I don’t think Ianto would protest against you using his car.”

Jack didn’t think so, either. Ianto was generous to a fault. He might not let him back to work for Torchwood if he had a sound reason not to, but he would never make an issue of Jack using his car.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
He stayed on the rooftop for the rest of the night, barely even shifting positions, trying to adapt mentally to all the changes that had happened during his absence. At least to the changes he had already learned of; he did not doubt that there would be more to discover, and he was not certain that he would like them. 

As a rule, he was fairly good at adapting to new situations – what other choice did he have, with everything changing around him time and time again, while he basically remained the same? But he had so hoped that he would be settling in to the old, familiar Torchwood Three routine like into comfortable, well-worn clothes; to get the chance to return to some semblance of normalcy after all that he had gone through. Realizing that he no longer had that option hit him harder than he would have thought.

Day was breaking in the familiar, grey and rainy way – at least Cardiff remained true to itself – and he was so bone-weary that he felt he’d lose consciousness any moment now. He was just about to leave the rooftop and return to the hub when his phone rang.

A quick glance at the display revealed the caller ID: he was surprised that it was Martha. He knew that Martha regularly called her family from the TARDIS – having met the formidable Francine Jones, he did not wonder why – but he was at a loss why Martha would want to call _him_. After all, he had made it clear why he could no longer travel with them, and she’d seemed to understand.

Well, there was only one way to find _that_ out. He answered the call, grateful to have someone to talk to. Half a night alone with his own thoughts had been… tiresome.

“Hello, gorgeous!” he said as cheerfully as he could manage, well aware of the fact that he no longer could fool Martha… or anyone else from her family. “Where are you calling from? Watching the burst of starfire over the coast of Meta Sigmafolio? It’s due to happen somewhen… right now, actually. Oh, I remember watching it with that girl when I was still with the Time Agency – it was beyond spectacular, the sky like oil on water… I bet the Doctor has taken you there, just to show off!”

“Jack,” Martha interrupted, her voice uncommonly serious, “I’m calling you from the night train. I’m on my way to Cardiff.”

“ _Cardiff_?” Jack repeated in a mild shock. “What are you doing in _Cardiff_ , of all places?”

“I’m gonna have a job interview tomorrow… well, that would be today by now, wouldn’t it?” Martha corrected herself.

“A _job interview_?” Jack knew he sounded like a broken record, but he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Martha leaving the Doctor. Unless… “Has he just left you behind? Why, that self-important, arrogant little…”

“Jack,” Martha interrupted before he could have worked up a serious rage on her behalf. “He didn’t leave me behind. It was my choice, all right?”

“But why…?” Jack just couldn’t understand it. He was sure that Martha had feelings for the Doctor; there were signs for someone with eyes to see; plus, due to his more sensitive fifty-first century senses, Jack could also smell the increase of her pheromone levels whenever she was around the Doctor.

“Later,” Martha interrupted again. “It’s a little… complicated, and I’d rather tell you about it in person. If you have the time to meet me, that is.”

“Oh, I do,” Jack grinned mirthlessly. “It seems all I have left is lots and lots of time.”

Martha was a perceptive girl. Even though she could not see his face, she could hear the bitterness in his voice well enough.

“It seems it wasn’t the happy reunion you’d hoped for during the last year,” she said slowly.

“It never is,” Jack sighed. “I’ll tell you about it when you’re here. When does your train arrive?”

“In about twenty-five minutes,” Martha replied. “I know it’s awfully early, but I wanted to speak with you before I go to this job interview, and since you don’t sleep much as a rule… I haven’t woken you up, have I?”

“Oh, no,” Jack assured her. “I was having what Ianto calls my _brood time_.”

“Really?” there was an almost audible smile in her voice. “What exactly does that include?”

“Standing on a rooftop, looking down at the city and trying to figure out what to do with my life,” Jack summarized. “All right, then, I’ll pick you up at Cardiff Central. We’ll go to a café, have breakfast and chat.”

“Works for me,” Martha sounded relieved. “See you, then, Jack. And thanks.”

“What for?” he asked, and disconnected.

The question hadn’t been a mere happenstance. Meeting someone who remembered The Year That Never Was would be a relief. Plus, Martha was a sweetheart, who needed his help… most likely in more than just one way. If she had chosen to leave the Doctor, something must have happened. And if she needed help, Jack Harkness would be there to provide it.

He left the rooftop and ran down the stairs with renewed energy. It was a nice feeling, being _needed_ again.


	5. Director Jones

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 05 – DIRECTOR JONES**

The Martha who got off the night train from London at Cardiff Central was very different from the one who had left with the TARDIS just a day before. _This_ Martha was wearing a supremely elegant charcoal grey trouser suit with a pale silk blouse, had her hair twisted into a tight bun instead of the usual spiky ponytail, and carried a laptop in a protective case slung over one shoulder. Even the way she moved had changed, becoming more purposeful and professional, but with an edge of something dangerous and unpredictable beneath the calm surface.

At first sight, she looked like one of those successful young businesswomen one could often see stride through the City of London, going after their business, whatever that might be. At second glance, Jack realized with a start that she was a lot like Freema: his first partner at the Time Agency. Like brave and beautiful Freema, she of the looks of an ancient goddess, the brains of the size of a small planet and the heart of a pirate princess. Freema, whom he had lost somewhen during the two years the Agency had decided to take from him.

He never learned what had happened to Freema, and that was another thing he would never forgive the Time Agency. They hadn’t only stolen two years of his then-still-mortal life; they’d also robbed him of the best friend he'd ever had.

Granted, Freema had been twice his age when they first met, but that hadn’t truly mattered. In the fifty-first century people aged – _would age_ – differently after having passed through puberty. A person would look very much the same between thirty and seventy, and even after that aging would have a much slower pace. So, an age difference of a decade or three would not really matter between friends and lovers.

Not that he and Freema had ever been lovers; they never wished to be. They’d been friends, though, siblings-in-arms-and-adventure, and even after a century and a half, Jack still missed her terribly. He was surprised that he hadn’t noticed the likeness between his old friend and the brave young woman who was now sitting opposite him in the _Mermaid Café_ earlier.

But again, after all he had been through aboard the _Valiant_ , it perhaps wasn’t _that_ surprising.

“So,” he said when they got their breakfast. “How's the family?”

“As well as can be expected,” Martha replied with a sigh. “They saw half the planet slaughtered, and that isn’t something you can easily forget. Even if time itself has been reset.”

“No,” Jack agreed grimly. “For us who were in the eye of the storm, those things truly happened, and they will haunt us for as long as we live… which is a very long time for me,” he added with a falsely cheerful grin.

“I bet it is,” Martha touched his arm gently. “How are you dealing with the memories, Jack?”

Jack shrugged, picking at his food without appetite.

“Honestly? I haven’t even begun to deal with them,” he admitted. “The TARDIS shielded me from the memories to a certain extent, but now… it’s hard. It _will_ be hard for a long while yet. For us all, I guess.”

“True, but for none of us will it be half as hard as for you,” Martha paused. “Mum’s told me to give you their love. And to tell you that you can always come to us – to _them_ – when it becomes too much to bear alone.”

“Perhaps I will,” Jack said thoughtfully. “End of the World Survivors' Club, eh?”

“Sounds ridiculous but shockingly accurate,” Martha grinned. “Like the Horsemen of the Apocalypse or whatever.”

“Only slightly less powerful,” Jack agreed; then he took her hand into his. “So, tell me. Why did you leave him? Was it because of your family?”

“That was part of the reason,” Martha confessed. “They’re still devastated. They need me within reach.”

“And the other part?” Jack asked quietly, even though he could have made an educated guess what _that_ might have been.

“I’ve grown tired of being second best,” Martha replied with a shrug. “I didn’t want to end up like my friend Vicky, who wasted years of her life pining after a bloke who never looked at her twice. I mean, sure, he liked her, but that was it. She loved him, though, and even though she knew he’d never love her back, she couldn’t get out of that trap.”

“But you’re stronger than that,” Jack said. It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t know how much it has to do with strength and how much with pure self-preservation,” Martha admitted. “But I needed to get out, for my own good, and so I did. Just like you.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest but Martha silenced him with a gesture.

“I know, I know. You came back for your team. Out of responsibility. But do tell me, Jack, and be honest: had the Doctor welcomed you with open arms from the beginning, would you have returned, even then? Or would you have stayed with him, travelling through space and time for eternity?”

“I don’t know,” Jack answered after a lengthy pause. “Were he still the same Doctor I used to know, he’d probably never have left me behind, and I’d have stayed with him. But this new regeneration – no. Just no. I don’t believe I could spend eternity in his company. It would kill me on the inside, piece by piece.”

Martha nodded. “Here you are, then.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “This still doesn’t explain what _you_ are doing in Cardiff, though.”

“Well, I’ve just finished signing up for my final exam when this woman rang out of the blue,” Martha explained. “She said I was exactly what they needed, and, assuming that I pass my exam successfully, they’d like me to work for them.”

“Who are _they_?” Jack asked suspiciously. Martha grinned.

“UNIT. I was offered the job of a medical officer on the UNIT base, right outside Cardiff.”

“Are you taking it?”

“I don’t know if I should. That’s why I wanted to speak with you first. You deal with these blokes regularly; what would you do in my stead?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack confessed. “They’re not bad - but after having travelled with the Doctor, getting settled in a common hospital or operating a private praxis on your won would probably not be enough for you anymore. How did they find you anyway?”

“The lady – a Captain Magambo or whatever she was called – said that I'd come highly recommended by an impeccable source.”

Jack frowned. “You mean… the Doctor?”

Martha shrugged. “Who else? It wasn’t _you_ , was it?”

“No, of course not,” Jack grinned humourlessly. “I’m not in the position of putting in a word for _anyone_. In fact, I might come to _you_ yet to get me a job with UNIT.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Martha demanded, agitated on his behalf. He shrugged.

“I’ve been replaced, Martha. It’s my own damn fault, really, running off after the Doctor like a headless chicken, without a notice to _anyone_. I don’t know whether they’d still want me to work for Torchwood at all.”

“Who are _they_?” Martha asked, echoing his question from before. Jack shrugged again.

“Basically Ianto, I guess. He’s the new Director of Torchwood Three. Tosh won’t mind me coming back, and the others are gone, one way or another, so it’s down to him.”

“Well, you can always go to London, if they don’t take you back,” Martha offered. “Mum and Dad _would_ take you in, you know that.”

Jack nodded. “I know, and I’m grateful, but my life’s _here_. It has been here for more than a century, and it will be, as long as I’m needed. As long as Torchwood needs me,” he grinned at her, that wide, white grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, if you accept the offer from UNIT, I’ll be in good company here, no matter what.”

“You think I should accept?” Martha asked, not quite sure about that. Jack shrugged.

“I think you should give it a try, and apparently, so thinks the Doctor, or else he wouldn’t have interfered on your behalf.”

“I still wonder why he did, though,” Marta said pensively.

“Perhaps he thought he owed you a favour,” Jack suggested. “Guess we all do. You saved the world, Martha Jones! You saved _me_ … and him. This was the least he could do, after he had led you on for so long.”

“He didn’t lead me on!” Martha protested. “He couldn’t know…”

“Oh, please!” Jack interrupted. “He’s over nine hundred years old; he _ought_ to know. He blathers so much about responsibility; perhaps he should listen to his own preaching from time to time.”

If the hostile tone of his voice surprised Martha, she gave no sign. Her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

“Jack, do you remember that young doctor I told you about?” she asked. “The one who helped me to find Professor Docherty? Tom Milligan?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, what about him?”

“I found him,” Martha said. “He works in a London hospital as part of the paediatrics staff.”

“Well, that’s good news that he’s still around, but with time having returned to normal, it was to be expected,” Jack noticed her strange expression. “What?”

“I gave him a phone call,” Martha admitted.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “So I _was_ right, after all. You liked him, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I did. He was just an ordinary human being, no special knowledge, no special connections to any higher powers – and yet he was so brave. He risked everything and sacrificed everything, just to help people…”

“…but he doesn’t remember you,” Jack finished for her.

Martha shrugged. “I guess he wouldn’t, and that’s a good thing in my book. It’s enough that those who were on the _Valiant_ will be traumatized for life.”

“You didn’t actually _speak_ with him?”

“No; he answered the phone, and I hung up. What could I tell him anyway? But it was good to hear his voice again, to know that he’s alive.”

“You should go for it,” Jack advised. “He sounds like someone who’d be good for you.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Martha asked. “He doesn’t even know who I am, and what if he’s otherwise engaged already? Besides, if I take this job in Cardiff…”

“Even if you do take the job, it will take some time until you can move here,” Jack reminded her. “Exam first, remember? In the meantime, I can run a background check on your doctor to see if he’s still available at all. The rest depends on the answer to _that_ question, doesn’t it?”

“I thought you’re no longer the head of Torchwood Three,” Martha teased.

“I’m not,” Jack replied, “but Tosh would do me the favour if I asked nicely.” He glanced at his watch. “When is that interview of yours?”

Martha checked the time on her mobile phone and became very agitated at once. “Oh my God, it’s in thirty-five minutes! I’ll be late!”

“No, you won’t,” Jack waved to the waiter and paid, relieved that his credit cards still seemed to work. “I’ve got Ianto’s car. I’ll drive you.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After having left Martha at the UNIT base – and extracting a promise that she’d call him before returning to London and tell him whether she’d accept the job or not – he drove back to the Hub and parked Ianto’s black Audi in the public car park, just outside the Millennium Centre. That was where the team members usually left their own cars, as Torchwood’s subterranean garage was barely enough for the SUV and assorted equipment they might need in the field. Then he walked over to the water tower, to the invisible lift.

This time, the lift accepted his code obediently and took him down without any problems. The team, sans Trevor and Sally, who had probably gone home to get some sleep, was already there, gathering around the coffee table. Apparently, in Ianto’s absence it was Emma’s job now to keep them caffeinated, and while her coffee couldn’t be compared with Ianto’s magical brew, even Jack had to admit that it was decent enough to wake one up for a day’s work. He also noticed that the broken-down couch had been replaced in his absence, with a bigger, more comfortable, although also worn leather sofa with a few cushions strewn across it – it looked almost disturbingly domestic.

Rhys, still pretending that he didn’t know Jack, was entertaining the others with stories about how hard some time-displaced humans from the twenty-fifth century found it to adapt to the oh-so-primitive living conditions in one of the safe houses. He turned out to be a surprisingly good storyteller, mimicking the voices and the facial expressions of his unhappy charges. Lloyd, Mickey and Andy were howling with laughter, and even Tosh smiled into her coffee, clearly amused.

Only Emma seemed a little sad; if anyone, she could certainly understand what it meant to be torn out of one’s own time, without any hope to return. Even though she did not like the attitude of the people, at least she could relate to their loss.

“By the way, Tosh,” Rhys said when the laugher died down, “have you finished that Rift predictor programme of yours?”

“It’s as good as done,” Tosh replied. “Why?”

“Well, Emma and I are as good as done, too,” Rhys said. “We want to throw a Torchwood special housewarming party – preferably on a weekend when the Rift promises to behave.”

“A _housewarming party_?” Jack looked from Rhys to Emma and then back to Rhys again. “You two are _together_? That was fast!”

“Not really,” Rhys shrugged, looking at him for the first time. “Emma stayed with us – with Gwen and me – for a while when she first came through the Rift, remember? Besides, we’re not _together_ – not like _that_. We decided to buy a house together, after Gwen…” he swallowed hard; it clearly still hurt him to mention the recent, fairly unpleasant events, “after Gwen threw me out. And since she’s already seen me in my morning glory, sharing the house didn’t seem such a big deal.”

Jack suppressed a grin. He couldn’t see into the future, of course, but he was fairly sure that in less than a year Emma would be the properly married little wife of Rhys Williams, despite the circumstances that had brought them together. There would be home-made meals and clean-scrubbed kids of rosy health, Torchwood or no Torchwood. If anyone, these two had the potential to beat the fates, thanks to Rhys’ patience and Emma’s amazing capability to adapt to new circumstances.

Which reminded him of someone else with the same potential – someone who only needed a little push into the right direction.

“Tosh,” he said quietly, “do you think you could run a background check on someone for me? A certain paediatrist by the name of Dr. Thomas Milligan, working in a London hospital. I don’t know which one.”

“I can give it a try,” Tosh shrugged. “Why are you interested in him? Is he possessed by aliens or might he be a good candidate for the team?”

“Neither,” Jack replied, “although the latter might even be possible. He’s shown remarkable strength in dangerous situations. The truth is, though, that a very good friend of mine is… interested in him, and I’d like to know if he’s _safe_. Also, if he’s already married or seriously engaged, I need to know that. My friend doesn’t need another heartbreak.”

“This friend of yours…” Tosh hesitated. “Did you meet her while you were away?”

Jack nodded. “It’s a long story. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to speak about it… but not yet. Not for a long time, I’m afraid.”

Tosh smiled at him gently. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready for, you know that, Jack. I’ll look up that guy for your friend. When I’m finished with him, she’ll know more about him than his own mother.”

“I always knew you were the best,” Jack smiled back at her. 

For a moment, it seemed as if they’d been alone in the Hub, forgetting about the presence of the others. Then Tosh, suddenly aware that the others had fallen silent, cleared her throat and turned back to Rhys.

“So, the housewarming party… I’ll have to give the new programme a trial run – we still don’t know whether it would work as we intend it to work, but if it does, I’ll make a Rift forecast for the next couple of weeks, and then you can choose the weekend for it.”

“Ultimately, you’ll have to talk to Mr. Jones about it anyway,” Lloyd commented. “Only he can give us all a day off, leaving the Hub unwatched.”

“You keep a twenty-four-hour-watch all the time?” Jack was impressed.

“Yeah, we kind of have to, as none of us actually _lives_ here anymore,” Tosh explained. “Some people _do_ need sleep more often than once in a week for an hour or two.”

“Well, now that I’m back, you can all go and have your party,” Jack offered. “I _do_ live here, after all; at least I used to, and I still hope Ianto will let me keep the bunker.”

Emma touched her earpiece that seemed to have come alive in that very moment. “You can ask him right away, Captain Harkness,” she said. “Director Jones has just arrived and is coming down from the Plass.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
If Jack had been surprised by the changes within the Hub, now he was almost shocked to see how much _Ianto_ had changed in his absence. In fact, the impeccably clad young man who stepped off the slab of the invisible lift, carrying an elegant, lightweight black suitcase, was no longer just-Ianto, the butler of Torchwood Three who cleaned up after them and got them everywhere they needed to be. He was very obviously _Director Jones_ now, and he carried his newfound authority with an ease Jack would not have expected from him. As if it had always been his pre-destined place.

The changes were also reflected in his wardrobe choice. He had always had a very distinct look, wearing those top-end fitted but very sober Marks & Spencer suits, blending into the background with his white or grey shirts and black ties. A shadow among the shadows of Torchwood Three’s secret underground base. An insignificant little clerk in the tourist office. The _teaboy_ , as Owen had liked to call him.

The Ianto Jones entering the main Hub area now was light years away from that teaboy. He was still wearing a dark suit, but it had very obviously come from one of the name-worthy, old fashion houses… _and_ he was wearing it with a pink shirt and a navy blue tie that was diagonally striped with white and light blue. The extra colour went surprisingly well with his skin tone, making him look much sharper and even somewhat audacious.

He was as clean-shaven as always, his expression serious, perhaps even a little worried, but he was clearly in charge of everything here. His eyebrows were slightly drawn together in concentration, and his blue eyes seemed weary, but other than that, he showed no signs of weakness or insecurity. He also looked a bit older than his actual age, which might have been the result of the added responsibility – or the fact that his high forehead came to better effect with his hair combed neatly to the side, forming a slight wave over his brow.

Despite having sat on the train from Glasgow to Cardiff all night, he looked elegant, neat and well-groomed, which, in Jack’s opinion, was simply not _natural_ – not to mention unfair towards the rest of mankind. But that was Ianto Jones for you. _Wie aus dem Ei gepellt_ , as the Germans would have said.

He came in, placed his suitcase on an empty desk and nodded his greetings to everyone before accepting a cup of coffee from Emma. Then he gave Jack an unflappable look.

“Sir,” he said, extremely unsurprised. “It’s good to see you back.”

That shocked Jack more than it would if Ianto punched him in the face… which Gwen doubtlessly would have done. Fortunately for him, Ianto had never showed any tendencies towards casual violence. Still, he seemed to take Jack’s unexpected reappearance so much in stride that it in itself was a little… _disturbing_.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Jack said, vaguely disappointed.

“I needed something from my car,” Ianto replied calmly. “You didn’t really think I would not realize that you’ve been the one using it?”

So Ianto still recognized his smell, eh? Those fifty-first century pheromones could still do the trick, it seemed.

“Well, yeah, sorry about that,” Jack said a little uncomfortably. “Sally gave me the keys. I needed something to pick up a friend from Cardiff Central, and I couldn’t really take the SUV, could I?”

“That’s all right, sir, Sally knew I wouldn’t mind,” Ianto waved off his concerns; then his eyebrows drew closer together in a frown. “What kind of friend, if I may ask?”

It was a legitimate question, considering that Jack had been using Ianto’s private car. Still, Jack liked to imagine that there was an ever-so-slight hint of jealousy in the younger man’s voice.

“You don’t know her,” he replied. “Her name’s Martha Jones; I’ve recently met her. We were… travelling together.”

“With the Doctor,” Ianto said. Since it obviously wasn’t a question, Jack didn’t bother to answer. “So, she’s one of those companions of his?”

“Was,” Jack corrected. “She’s not returning to him.”

“I see,” Ianto made a short pause; then he asked in a carefully neutral tone, “Are _you_ going back to him?”

Despite the casual tone, Jack knew how much depended on him giving the right answer to _that_ question; perhaps his entire future with Torchwood. If he wanted a way back, he needed to let go of his self-protective attitude and stand to his true feelings – even if that meant he’d be hurt again, badly, when the inevitable came and he lost Ianto, too, just as he’d lost everyone since becoming immortal.

“I’ve come back for _you_ ,” he said quietly.

Ianto accepted that statement with a brief nod, although his ears turned very red as always when something touched him emotionally.

“We’ll have a lot to discuss later,” he said. “However, that must wait. Our first priority is to find the time traveller that might be in league with our dead Blowfish. Emma has already dispatched the basic facts to my PDA, but I’d like to be briefed in detail.”

“Let’s relocate to the boardroom,” Tosh suggested. “We can use the big screen there.”

“In ten minutes,” Ianto said. “No offence, Emma, I know you do your best, but I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee since I left for Torchwood House. What I need right now is a cup of my own.”

“You and everyone else,” Andy muttered, giving an apologetic look to Emma, who just smiled.

“Ten minutes it is, then,” Ianto reached into his pocket, fished out the stopwatch and pushed the button on the top. “We'll see who’s going to be faster: I with the coffee or you with gathering the facts for me.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Nine minutes and thirty seconds later Jack decided that Ianto must have been training his people to do certain things within a fixed period of time, because by then, they were all sitting around the oval conference table of the new, comfortable boardroom. It was a neat, elegant place – Jack wondered whether Ianto himself or Tosh had been the mastermind behind its design – as it seemed highly functional and yet welcoming at the same time. 

The wall looking out to the main area was made entirely of glass, but the sort that was transparent only from the inside; the table was of solid, polished wood, with lighter brown inlay stripes and a decorative white table shawl in the middle; the stools around it were solid wood, too, but lined with white cushions. There was a really large viewscreen built into the wall behind the head end of the table, and a narrow sideboard reaching into the room on the left side, packed with refreshments and snacks.

Emma arrived together with Ianto, serving everyone coffee. Then she returned to the tourist office, where – as Tosh revealed to Jack later – she would watch them through a live feed.

“We have got a live feed within the Hub?” Jack was baffled. “Since when? UNIT could never be arsed to provide us with the necessary equipment in _my_ time.”

“Well, yeah, it isn’t exactly from UNIT,” Ianto replied. “Trevor and I salvaged the equipment from a Torchwood One storage hall.”

Jack grinned. “You stole high-end tech from _Headquarters_? Why, Ianto, I think there’s still hope for you yet!”

“I hate to disappoint you, sir, but let’s face it: _we are_ Headquarters now,” Ianto replied calmly, nursing his own mug of heavenly coffee. “Torchwood Four is still lost, Archie is just one guy, even if an extremely personable one for a Scottish nobleman, and Torchwood House is merely an archive. _We are_ in charge of protecting the UK against alien threats now. Which is why I need to hear detailed reports,” he added.

Setting down his mug and taking his place at the head end of the table, he opened his suitcase to retrieve his special laptop - the one Tosh had enhanced for him with alien technology. “I’m listening, people.”

His people summarized the results of their research with surprising accuracy and efficiency - or _not_ so surprising, considering that some of them were ex-cops, used to give precise and factual reports. Which made Jack wonder why _Gwen_ had never been able to do the same, flying out in one direction or another on her emotional rollercoaster… and how Andy had managed to do a decent job despite having been paired off with her. _That_ fact probably explained why the poor man hadn’t been promoted for years. The mistakes made by one member of any team always reflected back to the entire team, unfortunately. It wasn’t fair, but neither was life in general.

Ianto listened to the reports carefully. Jack could almost hear the little cogwheels whirling within his head as his analytical mind picked the bare facts apart and rearranged them into a bigger picture like putting together the seemingly random pieces of a complex puzzle. Jack had watched him doing that before; indeed, he had often used Ianto as a sounding board for his own theories concerning the one or the other case, and had been impressed by the young man’s ability to find hidden patterns in what seemed like total chaos.

Watching Ianto doing that on his own now, asking questions that helped the others to put the individual pieces into the right perspective, Jack had to admit that the Queen – or whoever had made the decision in her name – had chosen well. For a bigger team, one consisting of experts and field agents for different sorts of tasks, Ianto was the ideal choice. Granted, he didn’t have Jack’s insight (based on knowledge coming from three thousand years in the future) or centuries-long experience, but he could deal with the here and now better than anyone. He was efficient, well-organized, allowing his people to grow into their new jobs instead of steamrolling them with a loud, larger-than-life personality… as Jack often had done, not because he had wanted to, but because that had been the best way to save their lives.

He was startled out of his musings when Ianto, having heard all the reports, finally turned to him.

“Assuming that we _are_ dealing with another Time Agent,” he said, “would you have an inkling _why_ he – or she – would visit Cardiff in our time, sir? Unless they are looking for _you_ for some reason, that is.”

Jack shook his head. “The Time Agency has no reason to send an assassin after me, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Sure, they weren’t exactly happy when I left them, but I quit service the regular way, and I’ve always been very careful _not_ to cross my own timeline, so no, they’ve got no reason to come after me.”

“Besides,” Tosh added, “you’ve left them… how long ago?”

“A hundred and fifty years, give or take a few,” Jack said. “I see your point. If they had some old grudge against me, they’d have found me already, one way or another. _This_ ,” he tapped his wrist-strap with one finger, “might not allow me to travel through time any longer, but would still have served for the Agency as a homing beacon.”

“You mean they could have located you - or at least your wrist-strap – any time they wanted?” Ianto asked, mentally filing away that piece of information for future use.

Jack nodded. “Every other Time Agent with a fully functional vortex manipulator would be able to do that, yeah.”

“Including the bloke who’s killed our petty criminal today?” Andy asked. “Cos then we might have a problem, Captain. Unless you _want_ your ex-colleagues marching in and taking over here.”

As if to prove his words true, Jack’s wrist-strap suddenly started beeping. It was a sound he hadn’t heard in a century.

“Whoa!” Ianto frowned. “That thing _never_ beeps.”

“Not unless you get an incoming message, that is,” Jack corrected. “It serves as a comm device among Time Agents… or at least it used to.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Rhys asked, exasperated. “Answer the bloody phone, will you?”

Jack hesitated for a moment before touching the right controls. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to reconnect with his past, but they _needed_ to know what was going on.

When the miniature built-in holoprojector activated, though, and a nearly life-sized 3D light image appeared in front of him, looking like something out of Star Wars IV, showing an all too familiar face, he couldn’t help but groan in despair.

“Oh, no, not _you_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, yeah, I needed a plausible reason why Jack would think that Martha is brilliant. I like Martha, she was brave and lovable with the Doctor, but there weren’t any signs that she’d be _that_ brilliant, really. Not when it came to science anyway.


	6. Out of the Past

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 06 – OUT OF THE PAST**

Seeing Varyan again – even as a hologram – was quite a shock, although if Jack was honest with himself, he should have counted on a reunion, sooner or later. Varyan was not the man who’d have given up on anything – or _anyone_ – easily, and he’d considered Jack _his_ long enough to develop certain… proprietary instincts towards him. Still, seeing him again, without forewarning, was unexpected – and quite unsettling, Jack found.

Time had not been merciful to Varyan – or rather his excessive lifestyle had not, leaving his face deeply marked and his eyes shadowed. He had lost his beautiful boy disguise that had helped him pull off the most unlikely, hair-raising cons in their youth, and Jack was almost certain that he was drinking and using drugs again, and perhaps involved in other excesses as well. One could still see traces of his erstwhile beauty on that rugged face… but one had to look _really_ hard.

His arrogance, however, had not lessened a bit, it seemed.

“I can’t believe I got the answering machine!” he exclaimed, appearing genuinely upset, although one could never know with him. “What can you be doing that's more important than me?”

Tosh and Ianto exchanged an eyeroll behind Jack’s back, hearing _that_. The attitude was almost depressingly familiar. There could be very little doubt that this guy was indeed Jack’s associate. Or at least had been once.

“Anyway,” Varyan continued nonchalantly, “you've probably traced the energy shift, found the body. All me, sorry about the mess. Bill me for the clean-up.”

“Oh, I will, believe me,” Jack muttered under his breath. “Though I don’t think you’d like the currency this time.”

“Now, drinks!” the image of Varyan announced. “Retrolock the transmission coordinates, that's where I am. And hurry up, work to do!” His voice suddenly changed into a ridiculous falsetto, proving that the Star Wars-impression had been an intentional one. “Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!” he even looked around a bit, just like a young Carrie Fisher in that old film, before the hologram blinked out of existence.

Jack rose from his seat. “Stay here,” he told the others, falling back into his old command tone, without realizing it. “Don't come after me.”

“That’s out of the question,” Ianto replied simply.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ianto, be reasonable! You don’t know what he can be like!”

“Tell me then,” Ianto said calmly.

“I don’t have the _time_!” Jack yelled, really worried what Varyan might be up to.

“Yes, you do,” Ianto said. “You’re not going to leave this room before you’ve told me who this bloke is and what he’s capable of. It’s that simple. I’ll put the Hub on lockdown if I have to, but you _will_ give me the answers I need.”

“He belongs to my past,” Jack said evasively.

Now it was Ianto’s turn to roll his eyes. “That much is obvious,” he said dryly. “And yet you’ve never mentioned him before. Him… or the Time Agency. Why not?”

Jack shrugged. “It never seemed to matter. Here and now – that’s what’s important. The work we do. The person I am now. That’s what I’m proud of. If you’ll still let me work with you, that is.”

“If I do,” Ianto said seriously, “you won’t keep from me any information from your past that might prove significant for our work. Like the existence of a Time Agency, in the far future. Or dangerous Time Agents who might pop up in _our_ time, causing trouble.”

Jack nodded. “I promise.”

“Very well then; let’s make a professional approach,” Ianto looked at Tosh. “Can you retrolock the transmission coordinates?”

Tosh was already at it. “Give me a moment; I’m not used to work on this frequency.”

“By the way,” Mickey raised two fingers, signalling that he had an important question, “what are we telling the police?”

“The truth,” Ianto replied with a shrug. Mickey gave him a doubtful look, and he shrugged again. “Well, the cleaned-up version of it anyway, about a time-displaced human with whom we’ll have hopefully dealt by them. I’ll inform Detective Swanson, and together we shall create a convincing enough cover story, as usual.”

“How did you get Swanson so cooperative?” Jack asked with a false leer.

Ianto looked at him with serious, strangely compassionate eyes, as if he could have seen behind the brave front Jack was putting up. Perhaps he could. Ianto was nothing if not perceptive. He had always been like that.

“Manners and coffee,” he replied with a wry smile. “Works every time like a charm. You should give it a try, sir.”

For the first time since their reunion, Jack felt something akin genuine amusement. “Ianto, everyone _else_ would be just offering _coffee_. No-one can make the coffee machine do things it does for _you_.”

“There’s some truth in _that_ ,” Ianto agreed without false modesty; then he looked at Tosh. “Anything yet?”

“I’ve got the coordinates,” Tosh transferred her data to the big screen that was currently showing a detailed map of Cardiff; an extremely detailed one. “If I’m not mistaken, the bloke was in a place called _Reunion Bar_.”

“Sounds fitting,” Ianto commented.

“Sounds _dangerous_ ,” Jack corrected. “He’s near impossible to control when he’s sober. He’s ten times worse when he’s drinking. I guess rehab didn’t work too well.”

“Great,” Andy muttered. “Not just a crazed killer but a time-displaced, _drunk_ crazed killer. Remind me, why did I think that quitting the police for Torchwood was a good idea?”

“Because it’s more fun with us,” Ianto replied dryly. “All right, then, you and Mickey gear up; you‘ll be coming with us.”

“With us?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “You’ll allow _me_ to come?”

Ianto shrugged. “It’s _you_ he wants to meet. We’re just going with you as reinforcement. Speaking of which, are any special weapons needed?”

Jack shook his head. “Nah, he’s an ordinary human being… well, at least where fifty-first century biology is concerned. Everything that kills _me_ will kill _him_ , too. ‘Cept that he’ll _stay_ dead.”

“Thank God for small favours,” Ianto powered down his laptop and put on his earpiece. “Tosh, keep us informed. Lloyd, check back with the police; see if they’ve found something. Rhys, I want you to check those personal files Sally has got from potential employées and select the ones that might show any promise. Let’s go, people!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Andy firmly placed himself in the driver’s seat before Mickey could have started an argument about who was going to drive. Thanks to that fact, they reached the _Reunion Bar_ safely and in record time, like always when he was driving. They found the place in ruins… well, more or less.

“It was that bloke last night,” the bar owner told them, hesitating between righteous anger and honest panic. “A shortish bloke wearing a red coat like in that series about Napoleon with Sir Ian Holm; and cowboy boots. He just pushed in through the swing doors like some cheap John Wayne-wannabe in a really trashy Western film, stopped the music – I dunno how he did _that_ – and started throwing out my customers.”

“ _All_ of them?” Jack asked a little doubtfully. As a rule, Varyan liked to have an audience.

“All of them, save from the pretty girls,” the bar owner replied, and Jack had to hide his grin. Now, _that_ sounded more like the Varyan he’d used to know!

“Huw here tried to throw him out,” the bar owner gestured towards the bouncer, a man with a shaved head, built like a brick shithouse, “but that madman pulled two big guns and started to shoot around himself.”

“Casualties?” Ianto asked, bracing himself for the worst. To his relief, though, the man shook his head.

“None, thank God. But my bar’s in a bad shape. What’s Torchwood doing here anyway? I called the police, but they never came.”

“That’s because they knew we’ll be dealing with the situation,” Ianto said. “I’ll see that you get proper compensation for the damage. Now, can you give us any hints where this man might have gone?”

“I don’t know _where_ he went, but I know with _whom_ ,” the bar owner replied. “He left with that gap-toothed chick who’s here almost every night, as if she’d be looking for someone.”

“What chick?” Jack asked, although he did have an inkling… and the feeling of an upcoming disaster. The bar owner shrugged.

“She calls herself Gwyneth; it might not be her true name, though. She comes around 9 p.m., has a few drinks, as if waiting for someone, then she leaves again. Sometimes she goes with a lucky guy, but never twice with the same one,” he leaned closer in confidence. “I wouldn’t mind going with her once myself; shagging her till those big eyes of hers pop out of her head. Those who have, tell things about what she’s like in the sack - it would make you come in your pants.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” Ianto said dryly, “although I wouldn’t vouch for my colleague here,” he shot Jack a strange look. “Do you think this woman will come back tonight? Perhaps she could lead us to the man.”

“I’m not openin’ the bar tonight!” the owner protested. “Look at the shape of it!”

“I’d reconsider if I were you,” Ianto said. “I have reason to believe that the man will come back to meet here someone.”

“The more reason to stay closed,” the bar owner said doggedly. “I’m not riskin’ my life… or that of my people!”

“You won’t have to,” Ianto reassured him. “Torchwood will provide the necessary personnel for tonight.”

“What about customers?” the owner asked. “Won’t they be in danger?”

“Some of our people will play the customers, too,” Ianto replied. “We’ll pretend that it’s a quiet night.”

“Thursday nights usually are,” the owner agreed. “But there still might be people who’d want to come in.”

“I’ll stay here,” Huw the bouncer offered, “and tell everyone who doesn’t belong to _them_ that we’re hosting a private party tonight.”

“ _We_ can do that,” Ianto said. “No need for you to endanger yourself. This can prove… well, risky at best.”

The bouncer shook his head. “Our regulars won’t believe _you_. We don’t usually host private parties. They’ll believe _me_ , though, ‘cause they know me.”

“It might be dangerous,” Ianto warned. The bouncer nodded.

“That’s all right, mate. I’d served in the Armed Forces for seven years before I had to quit due to a leg injury. I know what I’m doing. I might need a gun, though… just in case.”

“A stun gun,” Ianto clarified.

“That’ll do the trick,” the bouncer agreed. “See you lot at 7.30 then. We open at 8 p.m.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They returned to the Hub, where Rhys started organizing things fort he action in the evening. Andy, in the meantime, contacted Detective Swanson, who promised him some reinforcements in the bar: officers disguised as customers. Nobody wanted this to become a blood bath, but they were all willing to use deadly force, should it seem necessary.

“I spoke with the SOCO lab,” Lloyd reported to Ianto. “They found further DNA samples on the roof where our victim was killed; the results have just come in. They are from some other petty criminal, caught by pickpocketing and shoplifting; nothing serious. He must have been attacked on that rooftop, as his blood was found there. By the limited amount of it, though, it was a minor injury.”

“Could our victim have attacked him?” Ianto asked. “Perhaps a quarrel between thieves?”

“Probably,” Lloyd allowed. “In any case, we have an eyewitness, should we need one.”

“Unlikely but not impossible,” Ianto turned to Jack. “Would your ex-colleague interfering if he came upon such a scene?”

“To help the attacked man?” Jack asked. “Nope. But for the sake of a good brawl? Yep, definitely. He used to thrive on that kind of thing; he liked to say that he was born of chaos.”

“Terrific!” Ianto pulled a face. “Just what we needed. Well, that cannot be helped now; and since we seem to have a few hours left until the actual action, we could have that little talk of ours, if that’s all right with you, sir.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think we could drop the _sir_ already? _You’re_ the boss here now.”

Ianto raised an ironic eyebrow. “Not trying to take charge again, Captain?” Jack shrugged.

“I was hoping for a little power struggle, revolved by some naked wrestling, to be honest, but… nope, not making any such attempts. I’d be happy to work here again with you guys, but it’s up to you.”

“Come then,” Ianto gestured him to join him in the office. “Let’s talk.”

Jack waited for Ianto to close the door behind them carefully, not quite sure how to behave. Now that Ianto was here, too, he felt even less at home in the office that had once been his. Ianto seemed to know what was going on in Jack’s head, because he smiled tolerantly and helped him out of his coat, hanging it onto the coat stand, like in old times. Then he shepherded Jack towards the only chair in the room, the one behind the desk.

“Take the chair, Jack,” he said with a slight smile. “I don’t need to play the boss with you. Just talk to me, please. Where did you go?” He sat down on the edge of the desk, looking at Jack expectantly.

“Further than I’ve ever gone before,” Jack answered with a heavy sigh. “Further than you can even imagine. I have died so many times that I lost count. Been dragged back into life, like being hauled over broken glass. I saw the end of the world.”

“How?” Ianto asked quietly. Jack shook his head.

“Doesn't matter now. But after it was all over... I knew I belong here. What kept me fighting was the thought of coming home to _you_.” He ran his hand up Ianto’s arms, looking up at him longingly. “If you’d still have me, that is. I know I wasn’t always fair to you…”

“You mean by ogling Gwen while you were not-so-secretly shagging _me_ after work?” Ianto asked wryly. “Yep, I did have my problems with that… still do, in fact, as I cannot know for sure if it’s truly _me_ you’ve come back to. But this is your home, and I’d never dream of taking it from you, so don’t worry about that.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Jack murmured. “I’d like to make up for that, if you’ll let me.”

“We can talk about that when the current crisis is solved,” Ianto leaned in to kiss him briefly.

It was more a greeting than anything else, but Jack grabbed his head to keep him from retreating and kissed him back with desperate hunger. Ianto must have felt his despair because he allowed the kiss to go on for a while before gently freeing himself from Jack’s grip.

“Later, Jack,” he said. “Right now, we have work to do. Tell me about this fellow Time Agent of yours. Tell me what I need to know to catch and restrain him.”

Jack shrugged. “All you need is _me_. We go way back. I’m the only one who could ever deal with him; that’s why the Time Agency partnered us up.”

“He was your _partner_?” Ianto asked with a frown. Jack nodded.

“In every way… and then some. It was a long time ago, Ianto. More than a century and a half, according to your own timeline. Back when I was still a mortal man.”

Ianto digested that piece of news for a while.

“How long?” he then asked. Jack laughed humourlessly.

“That’s a delicate question. We only _served_ together for three years in the Time Agency. However, two weeks of that time we spent in a time loop… only that for us, those two weeks lasted five _years_. It was like having a wife.”

“For which one of you?” Ianto flashed him a quick smile.

“ _That’s_ another delicate question,” Jack smiled back. “We used to fight about _who’d_ actually been the wife for years afterwards.”

“I can imagine, if he’s anything like you,” Ianto teased. Not that Jack would ever need to establish dominance in any relationship. He was a natural born, highly charismatic leader who could even afford to submit if he chose to, without losing his authority.

“No, I don’t think we’d be much alike _now_ ,” Jack replied thoughtfully. “He’s what I used to be… what I _might have_ become, had I not run into the Doctor and Rose.”

Ianto shook his head determinedly. “No, Jack, that’s not true. I don’t know what your precious Doctor was like when you met him – not beyond what Tosh and Mickey have told me, that is – but what I’ve seen on the salvaged security vids of the Battle of Canary Wharf didn’t make me fall in awed worship with him… to put it mildly. All that’s good in you, and there _is_ a lot of that, doesn’t come from the Doctor, no matter which incarnation. It’s always been part of you. All he did for you was, maybe, a push in the right direction. He couldn’t have _forced_ you to follow that direction. _You_ did that, on your own; have done your best for over a century. Don’t sell yourself beneath your worth.”

“He said I was _wrong_ ,” Jack murmured, and Ianto’s heart nearly broke from the sadness in his voice. “An impossible _thing_ he called me.”

“Well, if the UNIT files area any indication, he’s always been an arrogant bastard,” Ianto replied bluntly. “I never understood what you saw in him anyway; why you would desert us for him without as much as by-your-leave.” Jack opened his mouth to say something but Ianto silenced him with a raised hand. “We _will_ talk about that, and you’ll get the chance to explain yourself, I promise. But for now, you’re home again, and that’s what counts. Plus, we have a problem to solve. Everything else has to wait.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Gwen Cooper woke up late in the morning, with the mother of all hangovers, feeling sore in places she’d long forgotten ever existed. Her partner from previous night’s activities – and boy had those activities been vigorous! – was gone, that bastard, without waking her or saying his good-byes. She climbed out of her bed, which looked like an abandoned battlefield, and pulled a face at the stench. The morning after was never a romantic thing; neither did soiled bedlinens serve to lift anyone’s mood. 

Especially now that she no longer had Rhys to do the washing for her.

She’d long regretted having broken up with Rhys, despite their utterly boring sex life. Poor Rhys might have been hopelessly unimaginative in bed – because honestly, switching between two or three standard positions all the time _had_ taken the wind of passion off their sails – but at least he was reliable. Throwing him out _before_ she could have been really sure that his boss would leave his wife for her had been a mistake.

A mistake she hadn’t been able to correct, since Rhys had seemingly vanished from the face of the Earth. And no amount of looking for him had brought any positive results.

Oh, she’d been looking for him! She’d been pestering all his old mates, from Daff through Banana Boat to Alison, his former secretary, but to no end. Either they had closed fronts around Rhys – for some reason they’d never truly liked her; perhaps they were jealous that Rhys had spent most of his time at home – or they really didn’t know. All she could get out of them was that Rhys had found some indefinable job elsewhere and rarely even phoned them in these days. No, they didn’t know his new number, either, as he always called from the landline of his new office.

Gwen sighed, dragged herself into the bathroom and examined her bare body in the big mirror. She had large, hand-shaped bruises of the most interesting colour all over her body, especially on her breasts, several bite marks on her neck and shoulders, and her mouth was so swollen she could have been mistaken for Naomi Campbell.

She ached all over; every orifice of hers that could be used for sex _had_ been used last night, and was accordingly bruised. She didn’t really mind rough sex as a rule – the last bloke she’d cheated on Rhys with hadn’t been particularly gentle either, she still remembered _that_ , even though she’d somehow managed to forget his face… and his name – but enough was enough. _No-one_ treated Gwen Cooper like some cheap slut! Especially not a madman in a silly Napoleon-era costume.

She took a very long, very hot shower, dressed her bruises with the salve she’d used during her time as a beat cop – she’d often had to break up bar brawls and hadn’t always been as lucky as Andy – and put on some fresh clothes. Then she made coffee and gingerly sat down in the kitchen to plan her revenge.

That crazy sex-maniac had wanted to meet some ex of his in the _Reunion Bar_. Well, _that_ was a reunion in which Gwen intended to participate. With a fully charged electroshocker in her pocket, since the crazy bloke had been armed last time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Life in the Hub went on fairly uneventfully for the rest of the day. After having read all the reports filed during his absence, Ianto retired to one of the former empty storerooms that had been turned into a staff dormitory for those who were forced to spend the night in and slept for five hours. Then he got down to the Archives to do whatever he always did down there, only re-emerging to make a fresh batch of coffee at five p.m.

Rhys came back with fresh scones and muffins at about the same time (apparently, doughnuts had been banned from the Hub in Jack’s absence) and told them about his daily visit by Owen.

“He’s getting better,” he explained, “but it’s a slow process. At least he seems to believe me when I say that I no longer blame him for his little tryst in the hay with… with Gwen. That’s one burden less he has on his guilty conscience,” he glanced at Jack briefly. “I think _you_ ought to visit him, sooner or later. It would do him a world of good.”

Jack nodded. “I will; when this is over.”

“Detective Swanson has dispatched six officers in civilian clothes to play the customers,” Andy reported between bites of scone and large gulps of coffee. “They’ll be at the _Reunion Bar_ right after it opens, coming in pairs or alone, just in case this time guy will be watching the place.”

“The police have also found our potential witness,” Lloyd added, “but I don’t think he’d be of any use. He’s apparently so afraid of our suspect that he denies ever having been on that rooftop, despite all hard evidence on the contrary.”

“Oh, I can imagine that,” Jack said with a grim little smile. “My dear old buddy could make grown men wet themselves by the mere thought of what he _might_ do to them.”

“Speaking of which,” Ianto finished his coffee, “it’s 18:00. We need to prepare ourselves. The bar opens in forty minutes, and we must be in positions when your… _old buddy_ arrives.”

“Who goes and who stays?” Trevor asked.

“You’ll go with Tosh,” Ianto decided. “You’ll look very convincing as a couple. Andy, Mickey, you go alone; Mickey, you’ll play the other bouncer with the real one, just in case. I’ll go with Lloyd; she’s good with guns. Rhys, you and Emma will also come as a couple. We’ll put the Hub on alert and Sally can keep watch,” he sighed and shook his head. “We really need more people here.”

“I’ve marked a few applications for you,” Rhys told him, “and sent them to your terminal for approval.” Ianto nodded his thanks.

“You let people apply for jobs at _Torchwood_?” Jack asked incredulously.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Of course _not_ ; give me some credit, will you? Tosh and I have set up the parameters for a fake security company that would need people with similar skills and training one would need to work for us. It’s only the first phase of selection for potential employées. We need to start _somewhere_.”

Jack shut up, a little ashamed, and Ianto continued organizing the upcoming action with his usual efficiency. Finally, half an hour later, they left the Hub for the _Reunion Bar_.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Standing behind a bar and serving drinks was nothing new for Detective Kathy Swanson. Neither was flirting with semi-drunk customers to keep them at their peaceful behaviour. She’d done it often enough as a student, to pay for her education, and later as an undercover cop. Still, despite her ample experience in the area, she had a bad feeling as she stole a glance at the bloke, sitting at the bar in an open, Napoleon-era red coat and a dirty T-shirt underneath, with a line of shot glasses in front of him and working his way through them. There was something dangerous in the man, her instincts warned her, something unpredictable. She needed to stay on high alert if she didn’t want this action end in a blood bath.

She looked around in the bar to see if everyone was in place. She could see Cooper’s ex sitting at one of the tables with that pretty young thing that was now the public face of Torchwood, looking fairly… cosy with each other. Good for him; he deserved someone nice after all those years wasted with Cooper. The new Director of Torchwood, that young Mr Jones, had just arrived with Lloyd, and their resident geek, that cute Japanese chick was having drinks with a bald young bloke in the background.

From her own people, Swanson could see Detective Pugh sitting with her personal assistant, Eiry Conway – they looked like an old married couple, despite both being otherwise engaged. PC Bridges and Detective Flores were chatting with Andy Davidson, who seemed extremely content with his new job at Torchwood, close to the bar. Another Torchwood bloke, the young black guy who sometimes drove their SUV in the same breakneck style as Harkness, stood with Huw the bouncer at the doors.

It seemed they had everything covered. Still, Swanson couldn’t shake off her bad feeling. One could never predict the outcome of things when dealing with a madman.

Said madman picked up the next glass and downed the drink. He was just about to put the shot glass back in its place, but before it would actually touch the bar counter, he stopped and turned to look at the doors. His eyes were sharp and knowing… then he simply went back to his next drink.

Swanson looked in the same direction and registered the shadow of a tall man, just before the he double doors opened and Jack Harkness walked in, the hem of his long coat flapping against his legs. The doors closed behind him with a near-ominous slap.

The madman stepped out and away from the bar. Like two gunfighters in an old Western saloon, the two men faced each other in a fairly theatrical manner. Harkness’ face was inscrutable. One couldn’t tell whether he was happy to see the other man or not; Swanson’s bet would have been the latter.

The madman unsnapped both his holsters in an exaggeratedly threatening gesture and after a beat, he started toward Harkness. Swanson discretely signalled her people to prepare for the worst.

Way across the other side of the room, Harkness started towards the other man, too. They moved without hesitation, with wide, ground-eating steps – again, like in some old-fashioned Western – until they stopped mere inches from each other. For endless moments, they stared at each other unblinkingly – and then the madman grabbed Harkness, yanked him closer and kissed him passionately. Harkness stiffened for a moment – then he kissed back, without any hint of gentleness, in a fairly brutal manner. The kiss went on and on, both men fighting for dominance, until Harkness pushed the other man away.

The madman pulled back and slugged Harkness hard in the face. Harkness smiled – it was an unpleasant smile, one that made Swanson shiver, and that _not_ in a good way – then, he slugged back with equal force. The madman returned the unpleasant smile and punched Harkness in the gut, doubling him over. Then he pulled back and laughed as Harkness groaned.

Recovering swiftly, Harkness kicked him in the shins, bringing him down to his knees. The madman looked up at Harkness, who had his arms out wide, with a cheeky smile on his face and tongue sticking out in a dare. The madman rushed him, grabbing his waist. Harkness turned and tossed him to the ground behind him. The madman rolled and stood up. One could see that not only were they both experienced fighters, but also very familiar with each other’s fighting style.

Harkness turned and punched his opponent, who punched back. They exchanged a series of punches to the head and gut, neither really getting the upper hand. The madman kicked Harkness. Harkness grabbed his leg and flipped him over to the ground. They grabbed each other around their necks. The madman slammed Harkness back against the wall. Harkness grabbed his face and pushed him back against the end of the bar. Glass broke. The madman rolled backward and tossed Harkness clear through the thin screen partition. Harkness rolled over and got to his feet. The fight continued as if nothing had happened. _They must have very hard heads_ , Swanson thought, in the very moment when the madman head-butted Harkness.

“Ahhh!” Harkness groaned. 

The madman grabbed him, slammed his head down on the bar counter and slid him across the bar – through the long line of his shot glasses. He smashed them all – and they both crashed through a glass partition. Swanson made an involuntary jump backwards before she could have gotten broken glass splinters all over her face.

The place was even more of a mess by then than on the previous evening. The two idiots landed on the floor, rolled apart, reached for their guns and drew on each other at the same time. Neither seemed to have gained any advance on the other one. Terrific!

They smiled and chuckled as they circled each other and waited for the next round of attacks, their guns never wavering. Swanson was getting extremely nervous. She _hated_ unpredictable situations, and these two were the epitome of unpredictability.

The madman eyed Harkness critically. “You're putting on weight.”

“And you're losing your hair,” Harkness returned, without loosing a beat.

“What are you wearing?” the madman looked up and down his greatcoat with obvious disdain. “You used to have a much better fashion sense.”

Swanson couldn’t quite believe her ears. _Fashion_? They’ve all but levelled the bar, trying to beat each other to death, and now they were arguing about _fashion_?

Harkness shot the madman an unfriendly look. He actually seemed _insulted_. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he said sharply. “Note the stripes.”

The madman snorted. “Captain John Hart, note the sarcasm.”

“Hey!” Harkness sounded truly insulted now, almost petulant. “I worked my way up through the ranks.”

“I bet the ranks were very grateful,” John Hart – _if_ that was truly his name – snorted again.

“Actually,” Ianto Jones intervened smoothly, “we still are.”

Hart turned to him. “And who’d _you_ be, eye candy?” he leered.

“His boss,” Ianto replied calmly. “Among other things that still need to be negotiated. Not that any of it would be _your_ business.”

Hart turned back to Harkness with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “You've got a team! How sweet! Oh, pretty little friends! No blonde, though. You need a blonde.”

Swanson rolled her eyes. “Good Lord, he's even worse than you, Harkness!”

“We do have a blonde,” Ianto said, clearly used to deal with madmen; but again, he worked with Harkness, didn’t he? “In fact, we have two; which isn’t your business, either. Besides, it isn’t Jack’s team: it’s _mine_. And I don’t want you on my territory. You need to go. Back wherever – or _whenever_ – you’ve come from.”

“Oh, but I bet _Jack_ won’t mind having me on _his_ territory again,” Hart said nastily. “Time was he couldn’t get enough of _that_.”

“Times change,” Harkness said, his eyes cold. “What are you doing here?”

Hart rolled his eyes. “I was wondering when we’d get to _that_.”

The following events happened faster than anyone could make them out individually. Hart reached out to do something with his wristband when Harkness grabbed both hands and pulled one loop of some sort of handcuffs no-one had seen him take out from his coat sleeve over his wrist, letting the other loop dangle freely.

“I’ll be happy to listen,” he said, “but somewhere safer than this place. We’re going back to the Hub; Kathy, you’re welcome to join us. Rhys, see that this place gets cleaned up. Andy, pull up the SUV.”

Nobody moved. Ianto cleared his throat meaningfully, and Jack back-pedalled in a hurry. “If that’s all right with _you_ , of course.”

“It depends,” Ianto said. “Are those handcuffs really safe?”

Harkness broke out in an insanely wide grin. “Oh, yeah!” he separated the loops and handed the free one to Ianto. “You both wear one. If he moves more than ten feet away...” he made a loud buzzing noise, mimicking an electric shock, “he gets zapped by ten thousand volts.”

“Then I have no objections,” Ianto slid the loop over his own wrist. “Detective Swanson, would you care to join us in the Hub?”

Swanson grinned. “I wouldn’t miss _this_ for the world!”

“Ooh!” The madman’s eyes brightened in excitement. “Does this mean I get to see your house?”

“Just make sure you stay within ten feet,” Harkness answered, unsmiling. “Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The handcuffs are, of course, the same ones Jack used on Margaret Blaine in “Boom Town”. John Hart's supposedly true name is my creation.


	7. Wild Goose Hunts

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 07 – WILD GOOSE HUNTS**

They all drove back to Roald Dahl Plass, the Torchwood team taking the SUV and Ianto’s Audi, Detective Swanson her own car, taking Lloyd with her – mostly so that they could talk undisturbed. They’d worked together for years, after all, and Swanson trusted her more than the rest of the Torchwood spookies counted together… with the possible exception of Andy Davidson.

“So, is this the bloke who killed last night’s murder victim?” she asked, pulling the car into the Millennium Centre parking lot. Lloyd nodded.

“It seems so, yeah. The DNA is conclusive, in any case. And he certainly seems to have the right attitude.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll be able to throw him in jail, though,” Swanson said thoughtfully. Lloyd shook her head.

“I don’t think so, no, It would be… _safer_ if Torchwood dealt with him.”

“Safer for whom?” Swanson asked sceptically. She might have decided to co-operate with this new Torchwood, but that didn’t mean she would back off if they intruded her territory.

“For us all, I believe,” Lloyd replied, her eyes serious.

That killed the conversation for a while. They went up from the parking lot to the invisible lift together, and Swanson made an unhappy face. She had used the thing before, but it still turned her stomach upside down. It was the shortest way down to the Torchwood base, though, so she simply closed her eyes and tried to make herself believe that she _wasn’t_ nauseous. Not nauseous enough to throw up on the spot anyway.

They arrived just in time to witness the undeniably comical scene of John Hart being divested of the mobile arsenal placed strategically on various parts of his body. Namely, as Toshiko read from her hand-held scanner, two large guns in their holsters, a sheathed samurai sword, two more pistols, each strapped to one leg, a laser knife beneath his left elbow, seventeen small explosive charges in the lining of his coat and one tiny pistol from under his collar. It was… impressive, in a disturbing way.

“Good,” Harkness said, when all those weapons had been placed on a silver tray held by their lovely little Emma. “ _Now_ we can talk. Why _are_ you here?”

“That’s a long story,” the madman began, but Harkness interrupted.

“Doesn’t matter. I have time… and so have the others. _Talk_.”

“I think it will be easier to _show_ you,” John Hart opened his wristband and punched some buttons.

Toshiko looked from him to Harkness in surprise. “That's the same as yours, Jack!”

“A little smaller,” Harkness corrected in a strangely indignant voice.

The madman rolled his eyes. “But lasts much longer,” as all the others stared at them blankly, he added with a crooked grin. “Old Time Agent rivalry. Get two of us in the same room together, it's always about the size of the wrist strap.”

Swanson raised an eyebrow. “Bracelets as phallic symbols? Now I’ve seen it all.”

Torchwood’s pretty little shop girl became deep red at that, Harkness grinned like a loon and the madman gave Swanson an appraising look.

“And I thought you people from the twenty-first century would be all prudes! It seems there’s hope for you yet.”

“And you can hope that I won’t break your nose _if_ you start explaining yourself without further delay,” Swanson replied tartly, making Harkness positively howl with laughter.

“That’s it, Kathy, take no prisoners!”

“Anyway,” John Hart pressed his wristband; it beeped and a holographic image of a canister appeared. “I'm working with this woman – beautiful, clever, sexy, yadda yadda yadda – and we both get shot. And as she's dying, she begs me. She tells me about these radiation cluster bombs she'd been working on.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Swanson muttered. “But what do we have to do with those bombs? And how many of them are we speaking of?”

“Three canisters,” the madman replied. “Contents beyond toxic, swallowed up in a Rift storm.”

“And ended up here, of all places?” Swanson asked doubtfully.

John Hart shrugged. “That's the downside of your city being built on a Rift in space and time.”

“You make it sound as if it actually had an upside,” Swanson returned scathingly. The madman grinned at her.

“Well, without the Rift you’d never have met _me_ , would you?”

“Yeah, ‘cause that would have been such a tragic loss,” Swanson’s voice was dripping with sarcasm; then she turned to Toshiko. “Just how dangerous could these bombs be?”

“Left to their own devices, the radiation will break down the canisters and then infect your people and planet,” John Hart answered promptly, before Toshiko could have.

“If that’s so, then your lady friend did a really shitty job,” Lloyd commented dryly. “Even a bloody amateur ought to know how to contain the substances within an explosive device, so that they wouldn’t go off on their own,” she looked at Ianto. “If what this west-pocket Casanova says is true, Mr. Jones, these bombs need to be neutralized. There’s nothing more dangerous than unstable chemical weapons,” she shook her head in exasperation. “God, I _hate_ amateurs!”

“Hey, Missy!” the madman protested, clearly insulted. “Whom are you calling an amateur? I’d like you to know that she was a genius!”

“In theory, perhaps,” Lloyd shrugged. “She must have been crap when it came to practice, though, if she wasn’t even able to whip up any decent shielding for her doomsday bomb.”

“We might use that to our advantage,” Tosh said. “We can run a citywide scan on radiation surges and cross-reference _that_ with the Rift activity during that time span.”

John Hart looked at her with unabashed (albeit perhaps a tad exaggerated) admiration. “What are you, the brains and the beauty? You see, together it's an easy job.”

“Your worst nightmare, should you be trying to con us,” Tosh replied coldly. Hart just grinned at her like a loon.

“Kinky! I like a woman who’s rough. _And_ clever. I knew local knowledge _would_ help.”

“And just what do you get out of this?” Harkness asked.

The madman shrugged in a convincingly casual manner. “Dying woman's wish”

He did casual very well, considering that he was lying through his teeth, Swanson found. A glance at Harkness’ tense face revealed that she’d been right about the lying part.

Harkness got into the other man’s face. “We do this, you get out of here when it’s finished, understood?” he said harshly. “Right away.”

“Actually,” young Mr. Jones said in a deceivingly mild tone, “ _I’d_ prefer if he could get out of here _now_. Dosed with an industrial amount of Retcon. Tell me, Jack, why are we even _considering_ helping him?”

“Because there’s the tiniest one per cent chance he’s breaking a habit of a lifetime and telling the truth,” Harkness replied grimly. “Which means this city is in danger.”

The madman looked at him with glittering eyes. “Oh, you wound me, Captain, my Captain, you really do.”

“Not yet,” Harkness returned brusquely, “but I might seriously consider it, if you don’t stop your silly little games.”

John Hart didn’t seem intimidated by the threat a bit. On the contrary.

“Promises, promises,” he replied in falsetto, and grinned in a manner that made Swanson wonder whether he was completely insane or just tried to get on Harkness’ nerves deliberately. Not that the two things would have been mutually exclusive, of course.

“That’s enough,” Jones intervened. “Jack, take your ex-wife to the interrogation room and stay with him. You can chat about old times; and if he behaves, I _perhaps_ won’t be tempted to go down to the Archives and take my half of the shock handcuffs with me. Tosh, have someone run that citywide scan. Detective Swanson, if you’d like to come to my office to synchronize our cover stories, I’m sure I can do something to get us both properly caffeinated. All the others – please return to your work.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Jack was surprised how quickly everyone followed Ianto’s quiet orders… including himself. He knew, of course, that Ianto could watch everything that was going on in the interrogation room from his office, but that didn’t bother him. He had no true intention to discuss old times with Varyan – with _John_ – but he hoped, like Ianto, that the other man might confine in him when they were alone. It was a slim chance, but one he didn’t want to let slip through his fingers.

He shepherded John into the interrogation room – one of the very few places that hadn’t got a facelift in his absence – and gestured him to sit down at the table. He took the chair on the opposite side, eyeing his old partner critically. In the harsh light of the small overhead lamp, John’s face looked even more deeply lined than before.

“So...” Jack said to start the conversation, “how was rehab?”

His ex gave him a crooked smile. “Rehabs. Plural.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he’d tasted something really disgusting. But again, the Time Agency had tended to send people to rehab for the most unlikely things. They had said it would boast morale.

“Drink, drugs, sex and...” Jack trailed off.

“Murder,” John replied flatly.

Jack couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “You went to _murder rehab_?”

“I know, ridiculous,” John replied, deliberately misunderstanding his reason to be so baffled. “The odd kill, who does it hurt?”

For a moment Jack couldn’t be sure that the madness was truly just an act. “You clean now?” he finally asked.

John tilted his head to the side, looking up at him with one eye like a bird. “Yeah. Kicked everything. Living like a priest.”

Jack chuckled mirthlessly. _That_ was about as likely as _him_ getting pregnant ever again. The conversation came to a halt, and they just looked at each other, unable to find anything to say.

“So, how's the Time Agency?” Jack finally asked.

John stared at him in surprise. “You didn't hear?” Jack shook his head, not knowing what he should have been heard. “It’s... shut down.”

Jack couldn’t quite believe his ears. “You're kidding.”

“No,” John replied, suddenly very serious. “There's only seven of us left now.”

Which, Jack knew, would mean all sorts of trouble with irresponsible time travellers. The Agency had had its faults, and not just a few of those, but at least they kept an eye on the time-hopping idiots. With them gone, only God knew what sort of people would pop up everywhere and in any time – and, according to Jack’s experiences so far, God didn’t seem to be bothered.

“It's good to see you,” John suddenly added, and there was something of the old Varyan in his eyes for a fleeting moment. “It was never the same without you.”

“Define _the same_ ,” Jack said grimly.

“Well, it’s always more fun with you around,” John replied with a nonchalant shrug, the moment gone. Jack shook his head.

“I don’t do that kind of _fun_ any longer.”

“Yeah,” his ex-partner returned languidly. “You’re all grown up and respectable now. Small wonder they wiped two years from your memories. Must have pissed them off royally. Ever found out what happened in those two years?”

“No,” Jack said slowly. “And now that the bosses are gone, I probably never will.”

“You’re probably better off this way,” John pulled a face. “Memories. Nasty things. I’d be happy to delete some of _mine_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you,” Jack said.

John rolled his eyes. “No shit. You’ve become so prim and proper it makes me wonder why I ever loved you.”

“Must be the jaw line,” Jack replied airily. “Once seen, always yearned for.”

“Must be,” John agreed, his voice deepening another half an octave. He leaned forward as if for a kiss, but Jack pulled back.

“Don’t. Those times are over. I’m… otherwise interested now.”

“ _What_?” John asked incredulously. “Since when would _that_ stop you?”

“Since I found someone I want to keep,” Jack replied.

“Monogamous? _You_?” John’s eyes narrowed and there was a dangerous glint in them. “What happened to _delighting in every moment ‘cause life is short_?”

“Oh, I’m still subscribed to that philosophy,” Jack answered. “ _Especially_ now.”

“Why?” John asked with a frown. “What’s so different?”

“Everything,” Jack said. “The twenty-first century is when everything changes, and we need to be ready. So God help you if you’re trying to trick us, because I’d have no qualms killing you, no matter what we might have had in the past.”

John’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’d like to see you to try,” he said, all playfulness gone now, showing his true nature that was usually hidden under the coy surface: that of a dangerous predator. But Jack was one of the very few people who could always see behind his masks, so this was no surprise for him.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he replied and left his ex-partner alone in the interrogation room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Gwen had gone back to the _Reunion Bar_ right at opening time, but that bald-headed gorilla of a bouncer had sent her away, telling her that they were hosting a private party tonight, and as she didn’t have an invitation, he couldn’t allow her in. Which was completely ridiculous. The _Reunion_ never hosted private parties – they simply didn’t have the rooms for _that_.

Plus, she could see half her old precinct already in there, through the large glass windows. That self-righteous bitch, Detective Swanson, was standing behind the bar; her fat cow of a PA, Eiry-something, was sitting with Detective Pugh like an old married couple. Which was also ridiculous – who would marry someone like _that_? PC Bridges, with whom Swanson had her brat, was also there, and so was Detective Flores, the hottest bloke at Cardiff Police – sadly, glued to some stupid, pancake-faced cow that _so_ didn’t deserve him!

It must have been a very serious action if they’d put so many people to it. Gwen could even see Lloyd from SOCO, arriving on the arm of a bloke _at least_ ten years younger than her, clad in a conservative three-piece-suit. Gwen suppressed a giggle. Who on Earth would believe that a frigid bitch like Lloyd could get her claws into such a cutie? She found the bloke familiar somehow, too, but regardless of how hard she sought her memory, she just couldn’t remember where she’d seen him before. She was sure she had, though.

All that was forgotten, though, in the moment when she saw _Rhys_ arriving with the same car. Rhys, of all people, with a pretty young thing on his arm; a little blonde slut who must have been a decade or so younger than him and was wearing completely retro clothes.

The sight was – _insulting_ , to say the least. Sure, it had been Gwen who’d set Rhys before the door with all his things, in the hope to snatch Mr. Harwood Junior, but to think that only a couple of months later he’d replace her with some doll-faced blonde! Gwen felt the bile rising in her throat. How could he? After having sworn a thousand times that there wasn’t and would never be anyone else than Gwen! And pitcking such a child! It was… _perverted_ , yeah!

Besides, what was Rhys doing in the middle of a covert police action? Was his little blonde slut some undercover cop who’d brought him as part of her disguise? And what was _Andy_ doing here? Surely, the detectives didn’t need the help of such a dumb beat cop?!

Nonetheless, Rhys, Andy and the rest of them all went into the bar, and less than half an hour later the bloke in the ridiculous red coat arrived, too. The bouncer let him in without asking any questions, and Gwen, hiding on the other side of the road, gasped in surprise. She didn’t believe for a moment that this crazy bloke would be an undercover cop, so the others must have set up this elaborate trap specifically for him.

Had she shagged some sort of mass murderer last night? Oh God, what if he’d made a copy of her keys? She’d have to change the locks – _again!_ – and her father would not be pleased to pay for that a second time. He’d been pissed already when she’d broken up with Rhys (which was stupid, since her parents had never really liked him); she just couldn’t tell him that she’d taken a potentially dangerous bloke home, just to be shagged within an inch of her life.

She’d need a good cover story. And in the meantime, she’d need a place to crash. She couldn’t risk going home before the locks had been changed. Perhaps Trinia or Carrie will let her sleep on their sofa for a few nights. After all, she’d have had them as bridesmaids, had she gone through with the wedding plans.

Her panick-y thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a tall, dark-haired man wearing a long, grey military coat, with a captain’s stripes on it. It was a piece of period military clothing, perhaps from WW2, and the bloke had the proper height and breadth to carry it. He was also stunningly, almost ridiculously good-looking, with his short, spiky hair and almost electric blue eyes.

He strode towards the _Reunion_ purposefully, and as the bouncer stepped to the side in a great hurry to allow him entrance, Gwen had a strange sense of _déja vu_. Just like with the young bloke in the suit, Lloyd’s ‘date’, she was certain she’d seen this man before. But for her life, she couldn’t remember where or when. The whole situation of her watching secretly a man in a long grey coat had an eerie familiarity. As if she’d done this before. But when or where – or, most importantly, _why_? She simply couldn’t remember.

Well, whatever the case might be, she was determined to figure it out _this_ time – and what _Rhys_ had to do with the whole thing. She’d wait all night if she had to, but she was going to get some answers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Ianto and Detective Swanson had already finished the last touches on their cover story when Jack joined them in the boardroom for a mug of industrial strength coffee. A few minutes later Tosh looked in.

“Ianto, we’ve finished the sweep,” she said. “It seems that seven hours ago we logged a minor surge in Rift energy, across three locations. We can’t narrow it down to any specific point, but I can give you the general areas.”

“Good,” Ianto touched his earpiece. “Andy, team debriefing in the boardroom. Can you bring our… _guest_?”

The entire Torchwood team – save for Rhys who was, once again, organizing something on the phone – gathered in record time. Andy brought John Hart as Ianto had asked. Tosh went to the large viewscreen and switched it on. A detailed map of Central Cardiff appeared. Three areas were marked red on the virtual map.

“These are the areas we need to search,” she explained. “Admittedly, not small ones, but…”

“That’s simple,” John Hart interrupted her. “Six people, three locations. Two people per canister.”

“Excuse me,” Ianto raised an eyebrow. “ _I give_ the orders.”

Hart snorted. “Well, give some, eye candy!”

“The madman’s right,” Swanson said; then she added in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “Or do you prefer _Captain_?”

Hart looked at her with glittering eyes. “With eyes like yours, call me Vera, I won't complain.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather not,” Swanson replied dryly.

“John’s still right, though,” Jack said. “Small teams of two would be the most efficient. Andy and Mickey can take the north, Kathy and Ianto go west. John and me will take the docks.”

“Excuse me,” Ianto said mildly, “not to repeat myself, but…”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” Jack back-pedalled hurriedly. It was too easy to fall back to old patterns. Ianto nodded.

“It’s a sound plan, though,” he admitted. “With one difference. _I’ll_ go with Captain Hart.”

“No,” Swanson interrupted, “ _I will_.” Ianto tried to protest but Swanson silenced him. “Mr Jones, I don’t doubt that you’re great when it comes to dealing with weird alien shit, but I’m a trained policewoman. I’m used to dealing with criminals, so this is _my_ job.”

“Yeah, but _I’m_ wearing the shock handcuffs,” Ianto pointed out.

Swanson shrugged. “Lend them to me, then.”

“Ianto, she’s right,” Jack said quietly. “I accept that you don’t trust me with someone from my past; but if you don’t, Kathy is your best choice.”

“Wonders never cease to exist,” Swanson muttered.”

“All right,” Ianto said after a moment, reluctantly. “I’ll go with Jack. Detective Swanson can have his ex-partner.”

“I hope it’s just a loan,” Swanson said dryly. “I’d rather keep a rabid dog.”

“Flatterer,” John Hart batted his eyelashes at her in a coy manner. “Now, given the canisters are radioactive, don't open them, eh?”

Ianto rolled his eyes. “Very funny!”

Swanson rose from her seat. “Let’s go, gentlemen.”

But Jack held her back for a moment. “Kathy, I need a word.”

“Oh,” Hart grinned. “Can I watch this bit? He's gonna give you all the dos and don'ts. I love it.”

Jack gave him a quelling look and pointed at the door. “She'll be with you in a second. See that you stay close to Ianto in the meantime.”

Ianto gestured the Time Agent out of the boardroom. Jack waited until they’d left, then turned to Swanson.

“Kathy, this is dangerous. _He_ is dangerous. You should leave it to me.”

Swanson shook her head. “He knows you too well; he'll never tell you the truth. But if I can get him talking, flirt a bit, he might drop his guard long enough for me to find out what he's really up to. Because I don’t believe that crap about the dying woman’s wish any more than you do.”

“It’s still too dangerous,” Jack insisted. Swanson rolled her eyes.

“Captain, I’ve escorted dangerous criminals since I joined the police at the age of nineteen, and that, as sad as I am to admit, wasn’t yesterday. I can handle this. So, if you’ve got any suggestions to make, do it. If not, let me go.”

“Okay; three rules,” Jack sighed. “One – don't believe anything he says. Two – always keep him in front of you. And three – under no circumstances let him kiss you.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Swanson replied dryly. “I’ve got _standards_.”

“Has he gone to the no-kissing rule yet?” Hart hollered from the outside. “He only invented that one because he wants me all to himself, you know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re such a catch!” Jack snorted; then he lowered his voice. “I give you a hint, Kathy: paralyzing lip-gloss. An old trick he’s quite fond of.”

Swanson raised an amused eyebrow. “Tried it on you, too, Captain?”

Jack shook his head, his eyes deadly serious. “No, he learned it from me.”

For a moment, Swanson was absolutely speechless. Then she turned away and headed off down the corridor.

“Keep in front,” he ordered Hart, who peeled off the wall hips first and swaggered away. As she walked by, Ianto caught her hand and slid her part of the shock handcuffs on her wrist.

“I’ll keep the key,” he said, “in case he’d get the stupid idea of turning the tables on you. Coming, Jack?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They drove to the docks in Swanson’s car and got out on the opposite sides of the vehicle upon reaching the docks, to search the containers in the area where the sensor sweep had found suspicious readings. Swanson made sure to have her gun ready and the madman a few steps ahead of her. Whatever she might think of Harkness personally, the man knew his stuff, and she didn’t believe for a moment that he’d be playing some silly prank on her. So she remained on high alert, ushering the madman forwards with the torch and the hand-held scanner. Shock handcuffs were a nifty thing, but they wouldn’t do her much good if she got killed for them.

“Nothing,” Hart growled impatiently. “Are you sure this is the right spot?”

“No,” Swanson replied calmly. “I’m not. I _cannot_ be sure, as containers get shifted all the time. That’s why we need to _search_ them, you know. Go on!”

“This could take days!” Hart protested half-heartedly.

“Well, stop wasting my time then and keep scanning,” Swanson returned. “If the Torchwood geeks say it’s here, then it _is_ here.”

Her phone rang. She ignored it. If it was something important, the caller would leave a text message. If it was her daughter, missing Mum, well, she’d have to wait.

“Your phone’s ringing,” the madman stated the obvious.

“None of your business,” she replied. “Keep in front of me and keep scanning, or I’ll shoot you. I mean it!”

“God, you’re so untrusting!” Hart moped.

“Comes from having to deal with shit like you all the time,” she riposted. “You’ve seen _one_ worthless piece of horse dung, you’ve seen them all.”

“Funny you’d say that,” the madman commented, “seeing that you’re working with Jack, of all people.”

“What do you mean by _that_?” Swanson asked with a frown.

“Look, just don’t rely on him,” he said. “There’s a lot about him you don’t know.”

“I’m sure there is,” Swanson shrugged, “but that doesn’t matter. I work with _Jones_ , not with Harkness, and as long as Torchwood cooperates, I don’t give a shit about their pasts, since those are outside of my jurisdiction. All right, enough babbled. Go over there and check those containers!”

“Wanna come with me?” the madman looked at her with his head tilted to one side. “I might get outside the safety zone and get zapped with this… this _thing_ here.”

“Yeah, but if you _don’t_ do what I say, I might shoot your kneecaps to pieces,” Swanson returned, aiming at his knees.

Hart muttered angrily and opened the canister doors, one after another. At the fourth door he stopped and whistled.

“Oh-uh… I think we’ve got a winner here. Fancy a peak?”

“No, thanks,” Swanson replied. As if she’d be so stupid to go into an unlit container with him! “Bring it here!”

The madman gave her a measuring look, decided that she was _not_ kidding and then climbed into the container to retrieve the maybe-bomb. Suddenly, he whirled around and tossed it at her.

“Here you are!” and with the same swing, he leapt at her slamming her back into the wall.

But Swanson hadn’t worked for Vice for years for nothing. Before Hart could have kissed her, which was clearly his intent, she rammed her knee into his groin with all the strength she could master – which, as many pimps from the scene could have given testimony of, was considerable. The madman fell to his knees, groaning, and held his family jewels with both hands in obvious pain.

“God, you’re insane!”

“No,” Swanson replied coldly, “ _you are_ , if you think you can outsmart me with such cheap tricks. Get up and head back to the car.”

“I can’t,” Hart protested. “You’ve crippled me!”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You don’t walk on your dick. Get on going, before I decide to get a little further away from you and have you electrocuted.”

Hart muttered darkly but picked up the container and did as he’d been told. What other choice did he have?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Meanwhile, in the north of Cardiff, Andy and Mickey were entering a dark warehouse. Andy found the light switch next to the door and gave it a try – but with no results.

“No bulbs,” he declared sourly.

“No, cos that would only be helpful,” Mickey muttered, switching on his torch and looking around in the very large, very full warehouse. “Oh, great, how are we gonna find a canister in all this shit? Tell me, PC Davidson, what are we doing with our lives? I mean, I didn’t really have all that many other choices – not after the Doctor had messed up my whole life thoroughly – but _you_? You’ve got a good, secure job with the police… why did you give _that_ up for _this_?”

Andy shrugged. “I wanted a bit more from life than just walking the beat and breaking up pub fights between drunken blokes. Besides, Gwen always made it seem so exciting, working for Torchwood…”

Mickey aimed the torch at his face and howled with laughter. “What? You, too, got yourself into this mess because of a crazy chick? Welcome to the club, man!”

“Well, I haven’t regretted it yet,” Andy said reasonably, which made Mickey laugh even harder.

“You will, man, now that Jack’s back,” he promised. “He has a soft spot for dumb blondes – and small things like a gender difference won’t stop him.”

“Do I hear the voice of experience speaking here? Andy grinned, not really bothered.

He did know Captain Harkness’ reputation, thanks to Gwen, who’d been blaring about what a man-slut her new boss would be all the time. He even assumed that there might have been _some_ truth in it, although Toshiko was a lot more subdued when conversation turned to Harkness, and Ianto simply refused to participate… well, most of the time. But had Torchwood’s fallen hero ever had any intention of hitting on _him_ , Andy was sure he’d have done so long ago.

Besides, unlike Mickey, he’d also seen the interaction between Harkness and Ianto earlier on, and was fairly sure that there had been a great deal more going on between them than Gwen, with an eye on her boss, would have been willing to admit.

“Do I look like a dumb blonde to you?” Mickey asked back indignantly. 

Andy grinned at him. “No, you just look plain dumb,” he said, stepping out of the way of Mickey’s fist with practiced ease.

That was when he spotted the canister on a high shelf. “Oi, there it is!”

“I’ll get it!” Mickey was already climbing the shelves to reach the canister. He grabbed it and jumped down again. “Yes!” he crowed triumphantly. “Job done!”

“Thank God,” Andy yawned. “I hope the others have found the rest of these things; and that _someone_ knows how to deal with them.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Somewhere in the west part of the city, Jack and Ianto were entering a large office on the top floor of a tall building. Sweeping the squeaky swing door open, Jack looked around the office desks and all the equipment, which looked – well, absolutely boring. At least for anyone else than _him. He_ was almost deliriously happy to be back to the semi-normal life that was Torchwood Cardiff, even if only temporarily. To be back with Ianto.

“Oh, yeah!” he breathed. “Loving that officey feel! I always get excited in these places. To me, they're exotic. Office romances... photocopying your butt... Maybe not your butt, although as we're here...”

“The Rift was active at these coordinates, two hundred feet above ground,” Ianto said, ignoring his innuendo. “That means this floor or the roof.”

Jack followed him a little awkwardly, not quite sure how to continue any possible conversation. But remaining silent all the while would have been even more awkward.

“How are you, Ianto?” he finally asked. It wasn’t the most sophisticated start into a conversation, but he had to start somewhere.

“All the better for having you back, sir,” Ianto replied, without actually _looking_ at him. Instead, he was looking around in the office, as if noting and cataloguing any possible piece of equipment that might be hiding one of those ominous canisters.

“I thought we’ve agreed to drop the _sir_ , haven’t we?” Jack said. “Since you’re the boss here now and all…”

 _That_ made Ianto stop and finally look at him.

“What do you want from me, Jack?” he asked, not really angry, rather a little tired and impatient. “Tell me, so that we can get on looking for this bomb – assuming it truly _is_ a bomb – and deal with it as soon as possible.”

“Well…” Jack hedged around the topic uncomfortably, not sure how to broach it to Ianto. “While I was away, I was thinking... Maybe we could, when this is all done... Dinner? A movie?”

Ianto stared at him in shocked surprise. “Are… you asking me out on a _date_?”

His voice was so full of disbelief that Jack wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. Clearly, he hadn’t treated Ianto as he should have had, if the young man reacted like this.

“Unless you’ve established a non-fraternization rule during my absence, then yeah, I am,” he replied. “Interested?”

Ianto shrugged, calm as always again; only his ears were bright red.

“Well... As long as it's not in an office. Some fetishes should be kept to yourself.” He paused, looked around with a frown and added in an apparent topic change. “This place is bloody cluttered.”

“Looks like we're gonna have to go through every drawer, bin and plant pot,” Jack agreed.

“Right,” Ianto sighed. “Okay. I'll do this floor, don't want you getting overexcited, and you take the roof. You're good on roofs.”

Jack saluted. “You’re the boss. I’ll take your orders, Director Jones, sir.”

He got to the door when Ianto’s voice stopped him. “Jack? Are you sure that these bombs actually exist?”

“No,” Jack admitted.

“Then why are we helping this John Hart, or whatever his true name might be?” Ianto asked.

“Because he's a reminder of my past, and I want him gone,” Jack replied simply.

Ianto accepted his answer with a nod and started pulling out the desk drawers, looking for the maybe-bomb. Jack remained in the doorframe for a moment.

“By the way... Was that a yes?”

“That was a _maybe_ ,” Ianto replied, without looking up. “Now, if you’d kindly get onto that roof… sir…”

Jack grinned and left, leaving Ianto to search the office. Ianto went on with it meticulously and patiently, until he heard the _ping_ of an upcoming lift and froze. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in this building at this time, aside from the night porter, whom they’d already put to sleep with a harmless sleep gas, so who the hell could have been slinking around?

He pulled his gun, aiming at the floor for the time being and peered through the glass door of the office. He had no clear sight of the lifts from here, though, so he pushed the door open and edged into the corridor. Moving down, his Torchwood-issue gun now properly aimed, all he found was an open lift cabin – it was empty. Biting his lip, he stepped around to get a better look into it…

… and collapsed on the floor, having been hit over the head brutally with a portable fax machine. He couldn’t see his attacker peering the gun from his fingers and stepping over him to follow Jack onto the roof.


	8. The Bad Penny

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 08 – THE BAD PENNY**

Gwen had followed the freaks _not_ associated with the police to Roald Dahl Plass and was more than a little surprised when suddenly, between one step and the next, they simply vanished from her sight. What the…? A moment before they were walking towards the water tower – _including_ that bitch Swanson, and what was _she_ doing with these people anyway? – and then… gone. Just like that. Vanished into thin air, without a trace.

A nagging little voice deep within her mind kept telling her that she’d witnessed something like this before. Something _exactly_ like this, And if she didn’t remember what or why, that must have been because these blokes did something to her mind. Made her forget. It had been often discussed within the police that the freaks from MI5 or MI6 did such things all the time.

But what might she have figured out that Secret Service would need to wipe her mind? What might she have seen that they didn’t want her to remember? And, more importantly, what did Swanson and _Rhys_ , and _Andy_ , of all people, have to do with the whole thing?

Whatever it might have been, she was determined to find out. _This_ time they wouldn’t fool her so easily.

She took up position in the _Jubilee_ , a small pizza bar opposite the water tower, from where she had a good, roundabout look at the entire Plass, and sat there for almost two hours, waiting for some of those freaks to reappear. At first, the pizza guy kept giving her strange looks, but since she _did_ order both pizza and a few drinks (strictly non-alcoholic ones, as this was an observation, even if an unofficial one), he couldn’t really throw her out. Besides, it wasn’t as if customers would have run his door in.

After two hours or so, the freaks reappeared indeed, but she got more than she’d bargained for. There were six people altogether, including Swanson, Andy, the man in that military coat – they simply stepped out of thin air in the middle of the Plass, heading towards the Millennium Centre parking lot in pairs. Since that was where she’d left her car, too, Gwen cautiously followed them, falling back far enough to keep out of sight. 

Especially as one of them was the crazy bloke she’d shagged in the previous night, and the last thing she’d want was to be spotted by him. They still had some unfinished business that she intended to finish eventually, but right now, finding out who these people were and what they’d be up to was more important.

The six people got into three different cars and drove off in three different directions. The crazy bloke got paired up with Swanson; well it couldn’t have happened to a nicer bitch, Gwen decided. She now had to choose which team to follow, and – after a moment of hesitation – she chose the black SUV with the big white letters announcing TORCHWOOD on its side. That was the vehicle the man in the military coat and the cutie in the three-piece-suit left with.

She followed them to a huge, ten-floor office building somewhere in West-Cardiff – she wasn’t really familiar with this part of the city but hoped she’d find her way back, eventually. Right now, staying with these blokes was more important. It surprised her a bit that they wouldn’t spot her, though. Sure, she kept safe distance, but still – had Andy not said that this Torchwood lot was some sort of secret organization? Special Ops or whatnot? She snorted in amusement. Some secret organization, putting their name on the firm car in letters big enough to be seen from planetary orbit!

Andy had been fascinated by them, though. Had always babbled about working for a gang like that – it seems he’d reached his goal in her absence, after all. Well, good riddance. If Torchwood couldn’t notice being followed through empty roads, then Andy would fit in just fine.

She left her car behind the corner, just in case one of them should decide to actually look around, and followed the two men cautiously on foot, staying in the shadow of the building as well as she could. Through the front door – which, conveniently, was made of glass – she could see them talk to the night porter in a friendly manner. A few moments later said night porter slumped onto his desk, and Cutie-in-the-suit checked a small canister hidden in his palm, nodding in satisfaction. Then the two Torchwood blokes headed towards the lifts.

Gwen waited for a moment to make sure that they were out of sight; then she slipped into the building. She checked on the porter briefly; the man was snoring peacefully – they must have put him to sleep with some sort of anaesthetic gas. No need to alert the police, then; besides, if Swanson was involved, they wouldn’t do a thing anyway.

Gwen hurried over to the lifts and checked the indicators. One of them was still there, with doors open. The other one apparently had already reached the top floor. Whatever those Special Ops guys wanted had to be there. She stepped into the open lift and hit the button labelled #10. There was a _ping_ , then…

“Going up,” an automated voice announced, scaring the shit out of her, and the cabin began to elevate. She shook her head, annoyed. Who was the genius who thought _talking_ lifts were a good idea? Especially when one tried to sneak up on people unnoticed?

After what seemed eternity, the lift reached its destination with another _ping_.

“Tenth floor,” the voice announced, and the doors opened. Grabbing her electroshocker, woefully aware of the fact how little good it would do her against whatever weapons the Special Ops people might have on them, she left the cabin …

…just in time to see the man in the military coat run towards the stairs that would presumably lead to the rooftop. Now, why would _that_ sound so familiar?

Stopping to think about _that_ proved to be a mistake; she was nearly caught unawares by Cutie-in-the-suit. He must have heard the arrival of the lift – clearly, these Special Ops guys weren’t _all_ bloody morons – and was now edging out of the huge office on the left, holding his gun two-handedly, in a very professional manner.

Gwen pressed herself into a small, dark alcove, feeling around her desperately for something she could use as a weapon, as trying to sneak up behind Cutie in her high heels close enough to use the electroshocker seemed fairly hopeless. He’d already passed by her when her hands found something indeed, some sort of machine, heavy enough to deliver a decent blow but not too heavy to lift – if she used both hands.

Which she did. She put away the electroshocker, grabbed the thing with both hands and slammed it down on the back of Cutie’s head with all her strength. She only realized it was a portable fax machine when Cutie had already sprawled out on the floor, out like a light. She put the thing down and gingerly peered the gun out of his fingers.

Taking a closer look at it, she snorted in amusement. On the side of the gun stood _Torchwood_ , on a neat little plaque. Designer weaponry! Could these guys be any more pretentious? Still, a gun was a gun, and she had the feeling that Coat Man could be more dangerous than Cutie here. A _lot_ more dangerous.

It didn’t matter. She’d find out what was going on here, and then she’d have her memories back. Perhaps even her old job with the police, if she could bring proof that Swanson was involved in illegal actions. Perhaps they’d even send her to detective school after _that_.

Full of confidence, she grabbed her newly-acquired weapon, pulled the slider back, putting a bullet in the chamber, and then she headed for the stairs to confront Coat Man on the rooftop.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Ianto came to with a loud groan and a splitting headache. He needed a moment to get his bearings before trying – very, _very_ cautiously – to get to his feet. Caution paid off, as a sudden wave of nausea warned him that he was most likely concussed. Grateful for what Lisa had used to call his _thick Welsh skull_ , he got to his feet anyway… only to realize that his gun was gone.

That was not good, not good at all. He retreated into the office to have at least some cover before getting out his phone and ringing Jack to warn him. Jack didn’t answer his call, which was not good, either. He tried the Hub and was relieved when Tosh picked up almost immediately.

“We’re having an emergency,” he told her in a low voice. “I was hit over the head and lost consciousness for a while – I don’t know how long I was out, but I can’t reach Jack.”

“Did the two of you get separated?” Tosh asked in concern.

“I sent him to look around on the rooftop, while I searched the office,” Ianto admitted. “Perhaps not the smartest move, but we didn’t expect an attack.”

“Have you seen who attacked you?” Tosh asked.

Ianto shook his head and winced at the stabbing pain caused by that simple, instinctive gesture.

“No, they hit me from behind with some piece of office equipment. But they took my gun, Tosh, I need reinforcements! Have the others returned yet?”

“All of them, including our west-pocket Napoleon,” Tosh replied. “I’ll send you Sally and Trevor at once.”

“Can you track Jack’s phone?” Ianto asked. “That would tell us if he’s still here or has been kidnapped. Since his ex is back with you, it seems there are other players in this game; players we don’t even know yet.”

“Give me just a moment…” Tosh fell silent for a while, then she came back triumphantly. “I’ve got him. Same coordinates as yours. He must still be on that rooftop.”

“Him, or just his phone,” Ianto muttered. “All right, Tosh, I’ll go and see if I can find him.”

“Be careful,” Tosh warned. “If those guys have your gun, they’re probably willing to use it, too. And, unlike Jack, _you_ won’t recover from a gunshot wound within minutes.”

“I know, Ianto sighed. “But should a bullet hit one of those canisters, we’re gonna have bigger problems than my slow recovalescence.”

“True enough,” Tosh allowed. “All right, go on. Cavalry is on the way, too, so just be careful,” she repeated.

“Ain’t I always?” Ianto stiffened as he could hear a gunshot from above. “Tell them to hurry up. Someone’s already started shooting.”

Without waiting for Tosh’ answer, he disconnected, pocketed his phone and retrieved his ersatz gun from the inner pocket of his jacket. It wasn’t really a gun; not a projectile weapon in any case. Just a nifty little alien tool that knocked one out for about an hour, after which one would wake up with a killer headache. He found some poetic justice in that fact.

Thus aimed for a possible hostile encounter, he began to climb the stairs leading to the rooftop, trying to avoid any vigorous moves. He didn’t think that throwing up all over a terrorist or a hostile alien would do him any good.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Gwen found Coat Man on the rooftop easily enough. The light of the street lanterns was dim in this height, but the bloke was clearly searching for something, aiming the light of his torch into each and every corner. He didn’t seem to be armed, but whatever he might be searching for, it must have been important… and potentially dangerous.

Still keeping safe distance and aiming at him with her _borrowed_ gun, Gwen sneaked up to him in the very moment when he apparently found what he was looking for – on the very edge of the building. He bent over with a triumphant cry and picked it up. To Gwen’s disappointment, the thing didn’t look particularly spectacular. In fact, it looked a lot like a fairly common canister.

Coat Man must have known more about it, though, because he seemed absurdly content with himself.

“Hey, Ianto, you can stop now,” he said, clearly having heard Gwen’s approach and thinking his buddy in the cute suit had come up after him. “We’ve got it.”

“Cutie boy’s out cold,” Gwen said, aiming directly at his head. “He won’t come to help you, and I’ve got his gun. So, you can start with giving me that… that _thing_.”

Coat Man whirled around, ready to grab her weapon, but Gwen stepped out of his reach neatly, just in time.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot you in the head,” she warned. “You freaks have tricked me once – you won’t get beyond me a second time! I want the truth, and I want it now!”

However, Coat Man didn’t make any attempts to attack her. Just stared at her, with him mouth hanging open. Literally.

“ _You_?” he asked in shocked disbelief, cementing Gwen’s feeling that they had indeed met before. _Now_ she was getting closer to the truth!

“If you’ve harmed him in any way…” Coat Man said through gritted teeth… very white, very nice teeth, by the way, Gwen noticed absently, but this was _not_ the time for such details. She needed to get the truth out of him before he could call in reinforcements – or before Cutie down in the corridor would recover.

Which might have already happened, as Coat Man’s phone started to ring. He got it out to answer the call, but Gwen waved with the gun warningly.

“Uh-uh… phone on the ground,” she ordered, firing a warning shot close to his ear, just to show that she meant it. The bloke reluctantly obeyed. “Good boy. Now, give me that canister, and we can wait for the police peacefully.”

“I don’t think so,” Coat Man replied easily, but his blue eyes were cold like ice. They made Gwen shiver, and not in a good way. But she was not about to give up so easily.

“Fine with me,” she said. “Then I’ll shoot you first and pick it up myself.”

Coat Man gave her a mirthless grin that didn’t quite reach those cold eyes of his.

“Get it if you want it so badly,” he tainted, holding up the canister over the edge of the roof.

“You think I’m afraid of heights?” Gwen snorted angrily.

God, she _hated_ when blokes tried to make fun of her, just because she was a woman! Stupid jokes like this had been the bane of her existence while still with the police. But this guy wasn’t her boss or anything, so she was so _not_ going to let him get away with it!

Firing another warning shot, she lunged at him without preamble. Instead of jumping aside, though, he stepped full into the way of her attack, as if wanting to stop her from running blindly over the edge. She slammed into him, reaching for the canister; he lost his balance as he tried to keep it from falling into her hands – and stumbled over the edge of the roof himself.

Still trembling from the force of the impact, Gwen fell to her knees and crept to the edge on all fours. Coat Man was still falling; it was a long way down. He remained curiously silent all the way, after his first yell of surprise, and Gwen stared after him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, until he hit the bench with a horribly squishy noise that could clearly been heard even from this distance, and stayed there, bent in an angle no living man was meant to bend.

Of course, he wasn’t a living man anymore. Realizing that, Gwen suddenly got violently sick and threw up over the edge of the roof.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
At the second gunshot, Ianto threw all caution in the wind and burst out onto the rooftop, searching the place quickly _the old-fashioned way_ , as he liked to put it: with his eyes. He couldn’t see Jack anywhere… just a slight figure, presumably a woman, standing on her hands and knees and throwing up over the edge.

Nice. The window cleaners of the office building would be deliriously happy tomorrow.

He shooed away that thought as irrelevant and edged closer to the woman, aiming his alien stunner at her, charged with full power. He could see his own Torchwood-issue gun lying next to her, and that made him understandably angry. She nearly broke his bloody head, after all.

“Move away from the edge,” he said in a harsh voice.

The woman startled but crept away from the abyss a little. Ianto could her that she was sobbing uncontrollably.

 _Terrific! An assassin with a nervous breakdown! Christ, but I do know how to pick them!_ Ianto thought sourly.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here and what have you done to my friend?”

She didn’t answer, just kept sobbing pathetically. After a while, though, Ianto managed to make out some of the words she was repeating like a mantra within all that bawling and sniffing and other pitiful noise.

“Oh God, I’ve killed him… I didn’t mean it, I swear… Please, it was an accident… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry… Why didn’t he just listen…?”

Keeping his stunner aimed at her, Ianto crept closer to the edge and risked a glance down. The sight of Jack’s dread body on the bench, bent in an unnatural angle, was depressingly familiar.

Fortunately, he could also see the second SUV approaching – their ersatz car that he’d only organized a month ago, milking some convenient funds inherited from Torchwood One. Their team had grown too large to squeeze everyone into the same car, and right now, he was grateful for the second vehicle, as Jack and he had taken the first one. Only the SUV had enough room to place a prisoner – or a dead body – within.

His earpiece came alive, now that there _was_ someone to operate the SUV systems.

“Jonesy, we’re here,” Trevor’s voice said. “Where the hell are _you_?”

“On the rooftop,” Ianto replied, keeping his alien stunner aimed at the still sobbing woman. “Jack’s been killed… the body’s down there, with the canister we were looking for, I believe, since I can’t see it anywhere.”

“What are you still doing up there, then?” Trevor asked.

“Holding his murderer at gunpoint,” Ianto answered dryly. “Send Sally up with some Anti-Weevil clamps while you’re looking for the canister; _and_ one of the bags we use for covering their heads. I don’t want her to know where we’re taking her.”

“ _Her_? You mean he’s been killed by a _woman_?” Trevor whistled, making Ianto want to murder him on the spot, as the sound stabbed through his head like a hot knife. “So, where are we taking her?”

“To the cells,” Ianto said. “And do, hurry up, will you?. I’m not feeling that grand myself. I think I might have a concussion; so no more whistling, please.”

“Sure, Jonesy, whatever you say,” Trevor was sincerely apologetic; they’d known each other from Torchwood London, which meant he could afford to use a more familiar tone towards their young director, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t respect Ianto greatly. “Sally’s just entered the lift. You’ll be relieved in no time.”

“That would be nice,” Ianto admitted, fighting the urge to just sit down and fall asleep with every ounce of his considerable willpower.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Barely five minutes later, Sally arrived, applied the Anti-Weevil clamps – a piece of metal tape that, when wound round a captive's wrists and pressed together, would meld into an unbreakable loop, mimicking a pair of handcuffs – to the sobbing woman, and then pulled the standard Weevil-camouflage sack over her head.

“Can you walk on your own?” she asked in concern while dragging her prisoner towards the lift.

Ianto nodded – and regretted it at once. “As long as we’re doing it really slowly,” he replied.

They rode the lift down to the ground level, where Trevor stored the prisoner in SUV#2 and drove off to take her to the Hub. Sally retrieved SUV#1 from where Jack had left it, parked it right next to Jack’s lifeless corpse, which she arranged in a more natural posture to make his return to life less painful. Then they just sat there and waited, watching his injuries right themselves, until he gasped back to life with the usual painful sound.

“Ianto!” he cried out, his still-unseeing eyes searching for him frantically. “Ianto, are you all right?”

Ianto grabbed his cold hand to get his attention. “I’m here, Jack, and I’m all right… well, mostly.”

Jack, now fully back to consciousness, turned to him with a slight form. “What do you mean _mostly_?” he demanded.

“Well, I got hit over the head and probably have a mild concussion,” Ianto replied. “No other injuries or broken bones, though. Just a slight loss of dignity. The usual.”

Jack shook his head. “I never thought she’d be able to do such things,” he said, clearly shaken. “Granted, she was always impulsive, but…”

“ _Who_ was impulsive?” Ianto frowned. “Jack, what are you talking about?”

Jack stared at him in surprise. “You don’t even know who attacked you?”

“No, I’ve never actually seen her face, and the voice wasn’t even recognizable through all that bawling… _what_?” he asked, seeing Jack’s expression.

“It was Gwen,” Jack told him grimly. “I only saw her for a moment up there, but the eyes, the voice…”

“What was she doing here?” Ianto wondered, climbing onto the back seat of the SUV; they agreed to let Sally drive this time, being both more than a little shaky. “Do you think she’s managed to fight Retcon again?”

Jack shook his head. “No; I think she’d come to stalk John. Remember, the _Reunion_ owner said the two of them had left together last time.”

“Good,” Ianto said in relief. “Cause if people started becoming immune to Retcon, we’d have a problem. A big one.”

“What are you planning to do with her?” Jack asked. “She didn’t recognize me, so hopefully, her memories won’t be triggered this time.”

“I’m afraid _hopefully_ won’t be enough,” Ianto said, while Sally started the engine. “We have to be absolutely sure, or else who knows what kind of havoc she might wreak later. Fort he time being, I’ve had her put into one of the cells, as I didn’t actually _know_ that it was _her_. Quite frankly, I’d rather have some random terrorist involved. One that we could simply Retcon back to their diapers and hand over to UNIT to deal with. That it’s Gwen only makes things more complicated.”

“Old School Torchwood would have simply wiped her memory so blank she’d have needed a drooling bib for the rest of her life,” Jack commented darkly.

Ianto nodded. “And Yvonne would have her shot and been well within her rights to do so,” he sighed. “However, despite what you seem to think about my methods, I’m not recreating Torchwood London here. We’ll try less drastic methods first.”

“And if those methods don’t work?” Jack asked quietly.

“Then I’ll do what I have to do,” Ianto answered, his face blank. “I won’t allow her to endanger the team and countless other lives we are meant to protect, Jack. I’m sorry, I know you always had a soft spot for her, but she’s simply too dangerous on the loose. She’s a walking disaster waiting to happen, and I won’t sacrifice _anyone_ else just to spare her. I wish she’d be able to change her ways and to learn, but we both know she won’t, so I have to consider the interests of the many, as the Vulcans would put it.”

“I never knew you were a Trekkie,” Jack said.

Ianto shrugged. “I’m not. Not a devoted one anyway. I just happen to agree with that particular piece of Vulcan philosophy.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They spent the entire way back to the Hub in uncomfortable silence. Once there, though, they found themselves in the middle of buzzing activity, once again. Doctor Angela Connolly, the coroner of _Saint Helen’s_ , had arrived in their absence (only two hours later than promised, due to some unexpected work-related complications) and was now doing the autopsy on their Blowfish, with Lloyd preserving some DNA samples for their database.

Surprisingly enough, John Hart stood on the balcony above the autopsy bay, watching the coroner’s work closely – a fact that made Jack suspicious. His ex-partner had no reason to be interested in Blowfish physiology – the species was widely known in the fifty-first century. Unless, of course, he had a _personal_ interest in this particular Blowfish, which would mean that the two of them were together, working on some kind of scam. Jack certainly wouldn’t put it beyond Varyan… well, _John_ , apparently, in these days.

“Don’t leave him unwatched for a moment,” Jack warned Ianto. “He’s up to something, I can practically smell it… and I’ve got the feeling that this dead Blowfish is somehow part of the scheme.”

Ianto, whose head wound was being treated by Sally, just shrugged. “Yeah, that’s glaringly obvious, considering how he’s watching Doctor Connelly’s every move. A good thing that we already have that strange little pyramid in secure storage, isn’t it?”

“Are you planning to deal with the bombs tonight?” Jack asked.

“No,” Ianto replied. “I’ll have Tosh and her minions scan them and take security measures to contain them, just in case, but there will be time enough to deal with them tomorrow – assuming that they _are_ bombs to begin with, which I somehow doubt.”

“Why is that?” Jack asked, a little surprised. Perhaps it had been naïve from him, but the fact that they had actually _found_ something made him more inclined to believe John.

“Your ex-wife is way too undisturbed, being in the same room with them,” Ianto answered calmly. “Either they aren’t bombs at all, or that pyramid is needed to set them off in the first place. So while we keep him away from _that_ , I don’t think there would be any particular danger, for either of us. None that won’t come from _him_ , that is.”

“There’s that,” Jack agreed. “Although he’s always been quite reckless, so…”

“No,” Ianto interrupted. “Look at him. This is not recklessness, this is simple greed. Whatever is in those canisters, he’s dying to have them.”

“Then you should see that he doesn’t get his paws on them,” Jack warned.

“I’m just about to take care of that problem,” Ianto thanked Sally, who’d finished dressing his head wound, then he turned to Andy. “Please escort our… _guest_ to Room #121b and secure the entrance. “

Jack stiffened. Room #121b was the chamber in which Ianto had hidden the half-converted Lisa. It had been modified into a maximum security cell afterwards, strengthened with the aid of alien technology, so that not even a Dalek – or a Cyberman – would be able to break out of it. It had, however, never been used so far. Not that he’d known of it, that is.

“You think such extreme measures are necessary?” he asked.

Ianto shrugged. “He’s your ex-partner. You tell me.”

Jack thought about it for a moment, recalling old memories of hair-raising adventures he and Varyan had experienced and survived against all odds - _including_ spectacular prison breaks – and nodded.

“You’re absolutely right. It _is_ necessary. Plus, I think Mickey should go with Andy, just in case, since we’ll have to remove the shock handcuffs… for now.”

He ignored Varyan’s – _John’s_ – shocked reaction to what his ex-partner clearly saw as betrayal and retrieved the shock handcuffs from him and Detective Swanson. Then he turned away, not wanting to watch as Andy and Mickey led John away. Whatever might have happened in the time they hadn’t seen each other, whatever the other man had become – and by the sight of him, it was nothing good – they _had_ been partners and lovers for years, at a time when he’d still been a regular human being, and seeing him like this _hurt_.

Ianto gave him and oddly understanding look. Then again, the young man _had_ gone on loving his half-converted girlfriend as if she’d still been his sweet girl, so it probably wasn’t all that surprising. Then the Director of Torchwood Three turned away from Jack to address his people.”

“Tosh, before you go home, I’d like some preliminary scans on these so-called bombs. Nothing fancy, I just want to be sure that they aren’t leaking radiation, or the casing isn’t breaking down, or whatnot.”

“I can do that, Jonesy,” Trevor said. “I’ve got the graveyard shift this week anyway – and Tosh needs to rest.”

“Fine with me,” Ianto nodded, overriding Tosh’s half-hearted protests. “Rhys, go home and rest. We’ll have Owen on leave tomorrow; you’ll have to deal with him while we deal with the situation here, so you’ll need all your strength and patience. Andy, off with you, too!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice, mate,” Rhys said with a heartfelt groan and left, taking Andy with him.

Jack looked at Ianto. “Do they now that you’ve got Gwen down in one of the Weevil cells?”

“No,” Ianto said, “and I prefer _not_ to tell them until the current crisis is solved.”

“Perhaps better so,” Swanson, who’d been listening to them wordlessly, commented. “They might find it difficult to deal with that, given how they both used to be under her spell.”

“I know,” Ianto sighed, “which is why I’m trying to keep Rhys away from the Hub tomorrow. We’re taking this one disaster at a time. Doctor Connolly, you’ve got good contacts to the director of _Providence Park_ ; do you think you can talk him into letting Owen out for a day under Rhys’ supervision?”

The coroner, having finished her work and leaving the autopsy bay for Mickey to clean up, nodded. “I think that can be arranged, yes.”

“You mean Owen _doesn’t_ have leave tomorrow?” Jack grinned.

“Of course not,” Connelly snorted. “They don’t just let out patients randomly in the middle of the therapy. It would be counterproductive.”

“We have to take the risk right now, though,” Ianto said. “And Rhys is a very reliable bloke. He’ll look after Owen well enough.”

“Letting him find Gwen in a cell would be infinitely worse,” Tosh agreed.

“All right, people,” Ianto said. “Everyone but the graveyard shift: go home and have some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“What about me?” Jack asked. Ianto shrugged.

“Well, you do live here, don’t you? Just try not to start a mutiny while I’m off to rest,” he looked at Swanson. “Detective, could you give me a lift? I’d rather not drive with a concussion.”

Swanson nodded. “Sure. You should go to the hospital, though.”

“They can’t do much for me at this point anyway,” Ianto said. “And I sleep better in my own bed. All right, then, everyone, I’ll see you all in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Wikipedia, the Anti-Weevil clamps are actually canon items. Go figure.


	9. Night Talks

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 09 – NIGHT TALKS**

Jack remained in the main Hub area after the majority of the team had left. Somehow going to bed – alone! – didn’t seem particularly attractive. The reunion with Varyan – with _John_ – almost guaranteed the nightmares, and that was the last thing he needed right now. Granted, he did tire easier since the Year That Never Was – several hundred deaths with little to no break in-between had apparently put more strain on his system that he had thought. Even if the only viable sign was the odd grey hair.

So he stayed with Trevor and Sally in the working area and helped the former running a thorough scan on the mysterious canisters. The equipment the young engineer used was highly sophisticated; Jack couldn’t remember having seen these scanners in the Hub, ever, so they must have come from one of the dissolved Torchwood One labs. The controls and screens and instrumental boards covered an entire wall behind Suzie’s – well, Gwen’s – former workplace, so it would have been hard to overlook them, had they been there before. 

In any case, Trevor clearly knew how to use them; probably he had worked with them previously in London.

“Yeah, we used them with Doctor Singh on the sphere – the _Void Ship_ the Daleks arrived with to the Battle of Canary Wharf,” he explained readily enough when Jack asked. “They got a tad battered in the fighting, but Captain Price from UNIT tweaked them a bit for half a year or so, and now they’re up and running again.”

“And UNIT let you bring them to Torchwood?” Jack asked in surprise.

Trevor shrugged. “Officially, they are still Torchwood property, and since Jonesy is now the head of the organization, they couldn’t simply refuse his request when he asked them to be transferred to the Hub.”

“ _Jonesy_?” Jack repeated in amusement. Trevor shrugged again.

“That was how most of us junior researchers called him, back at Headquarters. Some of us were just too English to pronounce ‘Ianto’ properly. He didn’t mind. He still does not. Not when it comes from one of us, former Torchwood One members.”

“How many of you are still there?” Jack asked.

“Just a few,” Trevor replied with a sigh. “From the twenty-seven who survived, some ended up in mental institutions, some committed suicide, some begged to be Retconned – the only ones still remotely normal ended up working for UNIT or for universities; one went to MI5, even. With our knowledge and security clearance, we could choose from the best jobs, actually.”

“And you ended up _here_?” Jack couldn’t quite believe it. Trevor reddened slightly and pulled in his neck.

“It’s because of Toshiko,” he admitted. “She’s so brilliant; I couldn’t let the chance to work with her slip through my fingers. Besides, Jonesy can get me access to all the stuff Headquarters had put away in secure archives when I need the data – nobody else could do that.” 

But his furious blushing when he mentioned Tosh spoke of other, more _personal_ reasons. Reasons that Jack chose not to examine any closer. Not yet anyway. Besides, Tosh deserved someone who recognized how wonderful she was, even if she didn’t return those feelings. Although she and Trevor would make a cute couple, in a geeky way.

The scan had run its circle in the meantime, and Trevor stepped to the wall to study the readings.

“Well, these are definitely the strangest bombs I’ve ever seen,” he muttered. “I cannot find any explosive devices within these canisters, and if there _are_ any chemicals at all, they don’t register on my scan.”

“John Hart is a time traveller,” Jack reminded him. “Who knows in which era that woman, the one who made the bombs, originated from? The chemicals could be as-yet unknown in the twenty-first century.”

“Perhaps so,” Trevor allowed doubtfully, “but all my scans indicate is some solid metallic alloy within the canisters. The combination is indeed unknown, and so is the method with which it’s been forged, but chemical analysis doesn’t show any elements that would result in an explosive mix when put together.”

“Perhaps if we open all three canisters _and_ use the little pyramid to activate the device, it _will_ become a bomb,” Jack said. “In the upcoming millennia, several different kinds of intelligent metal will be developed – alloys that your scanners don’t recognize. Which era does this equipment come from anyway?”

“It’s been built at Headquarters,” Trevor patted the panel lovingly, “but some parts had been harvested from a space station named Nerva, in the twenty-ninth century. They say Commodore Sullivan brought them back from his travels with the Doctor, back when he was still a lieutenant. How Yvonne managed to get the parts from UNIT I have no idea.”

“Here you are, then,” Jack said. “Intelligent metals were – erm, _will be_ – first developed in the thirty-fifth century. Your scanners are six hundred years behind.”

“Which means we’ll need the help of your old mate to neutralize the bombs,” Trevor said sourly. Jack nodded. “Why don’t you try talking to him then? It seems Detective Swanson’s charms had no particular effect on him – which is a first. Perhaps he’ll be more open to you.”

“Oh, he _did_ appreciate Kathy’s assets, never doubt that!” Jack laughed mirthlessly. “He has an eye for everything that’s gorgeous, be it male or female, mineral or animal. But he always put financial advantage before fun. His mantra used to be: _We're a cosmic joke, an accident of chemicals and evolution. The jokes, the sex, just cover the fact that nothing means anything. And the only consolation is money_.”

“Well…” Trevor said after a lengthy, thoughtful pause, “that’s just plain stupid. Nihilism never made life any easier.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jack agreed. “Although there might have been a time when I subscribed to the same philosophy.”

“No longer, though?” Trevor asked. Jack shook his head.

“Nah, I moved on. Of course, the not being able to die permanently might have played a role in _that_. I mean, if you don’t _stay_ dead, what does money still matter?”

“You mean you haven’t saved any in all those years?” Trevor clearly disapproved. Jack grinned.

“Of course I did; I never said the _quality_ of life wouldn’t be important. It’s just not the high end of all things,” he yawned. “Well, since we can’t find out more about these bloody canisters, perhaps we should put them into security storage until tomorrow.”

“That would probably be the best,” Trevor agreed; then a thought occurred to him. “Do you think it would be wise to put them into the same storage with the pyramid? What if the pyramid is the detonator? It could blow us up, together with the entire Hub.”

Jack shook his head. “Not if we put them into separate containment boxes. They used to be dozens of them in my… in _Ianto’s_ office. So, unless you’ve filled them all while I was away…”

“I don’t think so,” Trevor replied. “Of course, Jonesy knows best what’s in what, but we didn’t have that much potentially dangerous stuff lately. Let’s see if we find a few more of these smart boxes.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They found a few more containment boxes in the usual safe indeed and put away the containers, each into its own box. Mickey, having finished cleaning up the autopsy bay (and being on call this week) joined them a little later, while Sally was keeping half an eye on the CCTV monitor, just in case.

“You should go and have some sleep, Captain Cheesecake,” Mickey said to Jack. “You look like shit.”

“I _feel_ like shit,” Jack admitted. “You would, too, had you died several hundred times during the last year.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow. “So, you remember, too? I was wondering…”

“How comes that _you_ remember?” Jack asked in surprise.

Mickey shrugged. “We all do. Baldie here says it’s ‘cause of the Rift.”

“The fact is, Jonesy, Mickey and I were here when time reset itself,” Trevor took over. “You see, Captain, Saxon – or should I say, the Master – sent out your old team to the Himalayas on a wild goose hunt…”

“And they went?” Jack frowned. “Just like that? Since when does Torchwood take orders from the Prime Minister?”

“We don’t,” Trevor said in agreement. “But that cow-eyed bint wanted to show Jonesy that _she’s_ the boss here, even though Jonesy had already been established as the new director and even hired the two of us,” he waved in Mickey’s direction. “And so she simply disobeyed his orders. Doctor Harper decided to go with her – I think he already had a death wish – and Toshiko didn’t want to let them go alone, so Jonesy let her go with them. She was the only one who escaped to Japan, but then died with her family as she tried to get them out of there. She helped organize the resistance for quite a while, though.”

“Does she know?” Jack asked quietly. Trevor nodded.

“Jonesy thought she deserved to know the truth, and we all agreed. She’s amazing, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” Jack smiled. Trevor was obviously totally besotted with Tosh. Well, that showed a good taste in women. “So, the Rift protected you from the time-reset?”

“It was wide open at that time,” Trevor explained. “The Master’s bloody paradox machine interacted with it in a way we’re still trying to understand. So yeah, we know. We didn’t saw much from what was going on, as Jonesy put us into lockdown and we had to maintain total radio silence most of the time, but yeah… we know a bit of what happened to you on the _Valiant_ , and we’re sorry, man,” he added sincerely.

“Who knows, exactly?” Jack asked, hesitating between horror and relief that he won’t have to actually _speak_ about it.

“Just Sally, Mickey and me,” Trevor assured him. “We’d already been hired back then. Oh, and Jonesy told Toshiko; he thought she needed to know. But Andy and Rhys have no idea, and neither has Lloyd.”

Jack understood the reasoning behind that choice. Lloyd, Andy and Rhys came from the outside; they never belonged either to UNIT or any of the Torchwood branches. It wasn’t that Ianto wouldn’t trust them; they just weren’t _family_. Not yet, in any case, despite Rhys’ failed relationship with Gwen.

That left only one person unmentioned.

“What about Emma?” he asked.

“Well, she figured it out on her own,” Trevor replied with a shrug. “Did you know that she has a natural sensitivity for time disturbances?” Jack shook his head. “Well, she does. Toshiko says it might come from the fact that she’d been temporally displaced herself. In any case, she always gets a headache when the Rift spikes. The stronger the spike, the worse the headache. She was rolling on the floor with a killer migraine during the time-reset, so she knew something big had happened. So she dogged Jonesy so long that he finally gave in and told her the truth. About the reset of time anyway. Not about _you_ , though. There was no need to burden her with that, too.”

Jack nodded his understanding. “If you knew about a lot of things, though, have you ever heard of a Doctor Tom Milligan?” he then asked. Trevor nodded.

“Yeah; I know he worked for the resistance before they caught him. Is he the same bloke you wanted a background check on?” at Jack’s surprised look he grinned. “Toshiko rolled it off to Sally; she’s Head Researcher now, small things like that ain’t her job anymore.”

“It’s the same guy, yeah,” Jack said, after having digested _that_ piece of information for a while. Then he turned to Sally. “Have you found anything?”

She grinned. “He’s single, unattached, and his criminal record is clean, if that’s what you mind. Other than a tendency to drive too fast and to park his car where he shouldn’t, he’s pure as freshly driven snow. Why are you interested in him?”

“Not me,” Jack said. “Martha. They met somewhen during the Year That Never Was, and he seems to have impressed her. Must be some guy if he managed to impress Martha Jones.”

“ _Martha Jones_?” Trevor repeated in awe. “The Martha Jones who ultimately saved you and the Doctor and us all? _That_ Martha Jones? You still have contact with her?”

“Well, of course I do,” Jack shrugged. “We’ve travelled with the Doctor together, after all. Besides, she’s in Cardiff right now. Negotiating a job offer with the UNIT base outside town.”

“I hope she’ll accept,” Trevor said seriously. “It would make our dealings with UNIT _so_ much easier. Colonel Ironpants is a pain in the arse; I think he’s still missing Captain Price.”

They all had a good laugh at the expense of Colonel Mace; then Jack looked at Mickey.

“And what are _you_ doing here, Mickey Mouse? I thought you were safely stored away with Rose in that alternate universe. Went to live with your Gran there. Trying to iron out a few mistakes you’ve made here.”

“I did,” Mickey said, “and it was fun for a while. We beat the Cybermen, saved the world… that kind of shit. But when I followed them back here, just before the Battle of Canary Wharf, I realized that _this_ is where I belong. My Gran noticed that something was off – that I wasn’t really her Ricky – so I told her the truth. She made me promise to come home after she died… and so I did.”

“So you lost her twice,” Jack said, feeling terribly sorry for him. If anyone, _he_ knew all too well what it meant losing loved ones all the time. Mickey nodded.

“Yeah, but at least the second time wasn’t _my_ fault; she died peacefully of old age. And I got to spend a little more time with her. It was worth the heartbreak, I’d say.”

Jack eyed him with newfound respect. “You’ve all grown up since we last met,” he said.

“Yeah, well, what other chance did I have?” Mickey replied with a crooked smile. “I contacted Trevor when I got back – we both used to work with Doctor Singh, so he knew my credentials – and he put in a word by Ianto on my behalf, so here I am.”

“You could have found yourself a normal job,” Jack said. “In a garage or whatnot.”

Mickey shook his head. “After all I’d seen? No chance, man. I don’t fit in no kind of normal life anymore. It’s cool, though. I like it here. Ianto’s a bit stuffy sometimes, but the others are okay, and I have great fun riling up Andy. And flirting with the girls,” he added, grinning at Sally who punched him in the biceps.

“What about Rose?” Jack asked quietly. Mickey’s grin faded.

“I’ve lost her in the moment she first set foot in the TARDIS,” he replied. “I just wasn’t willing to admit it. And when the Doctor regenerated into this neurotic emo bloke, she suddenly fell for him, big time. I’d even say it was mutual,” he pulled a face. “A nine-hundred-year-old alien and a teenage girl. Speak about squishy. Did you know that he’d burned up a sun after the Battle of Canary Wharf, just to say good-bye? Turned it into a supernova for energy.”

“The Doctor never does anything by halves,” Jack said dryly.

“’Cept leaving _you_ behind on some bloody satellite to die, when he could have gone back for you,” Mickey commented.

“How do _you_ know about that?” Jack asked with a frown.

Mickey shrugged. “Rose babbled. She was so bloody proud of herself, of saving your life… It never occurred to her that she not only killed the Doctor in the process but also cursed you to spend eternity alone. I wish I’d realized earlier what a stupid git she really was. Would have spared me a lot of heartache.”

“Well, it wasn’t the Doctor’s fault…” Jack began, but Mickey interrupted him angrily.

“You should stop worshipping the ground he walks on, man. Yes, he does save the world occasionally, but he ain’t no God. And he doesn’t give a shit about collateral damage – particularly this new version of his. He likes to create a mess, but rarely can be arsed to stay and keep cleaning it up afterwards. Which is exactly what _you_ did, running off after him and leaving it to your team to deal with the aftermath of the Abaddon crisis. I mean, I wasn’t here, but I still know it was ugly.”

“I know,” Jack said remorsefully. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what _he_ ’d say, too, but it just ain’t enough,” Mickey replied. “I know you went through seven hells for your efforts, just ‘cause that mad time guy knew you were _his_ , but knowing that didn’t help your team a bit. So, if I were you, I’d forget about the Doctor and do some serious grovelling to get back into the good graces of the people you’ve abandoned. I don’t mean the cow-eyed bint, but the others deserve an apology.”

“Actually,” Trevor coughed,” they weren’t exactly acting at their best either, did they? It wasn’t Captain Harkness who opened up the Rift, after all, and one of them _did_ kill him, before they’d known he would come back.”

“Well, yes, if he’d been more honest with them they’d have been more willing to trust him,” Mickey pointed out. “Treating them as kids or minions is something the Doctor would do – and it did not work too well for him, either, save for the girls who had a crush on him.”

“You’re still mad at him, I see,” Jack said. Mickey gave him a baleful look.

“And why shouldn’t I? He destroyed my _life_ , man! I might have adapted, but it will never be the same. I used to be an ordinary bloke with a dumb blonde girlfriend and happy, too! Then in he waltzed, and before I knew what had hit me, I was a suspect in a murder case; the coppers thought I’d murdered Rose, just because he miscalculated and brought her back a year too late. And he still had the cheek to call _me_ an idiot!”

“He tends to treat humans as if we were apes,” Trevor agreed. “I mean, the way he behaved during the Battle of Canary Wharf was proof enough. All he cared for was his little blonde bimbo – he didn’t even _try_ to help those people with the earpods.”

“To his defence, although he doesn’t deserve it, those guys were probably beyond help,” Mickey said.

“We don’t _know_ that!” Trevor returned heatedly. “Those people were young and bright, the whole life still before them… and they were my _friends_ : Gareth, Adeola, Matt… he never wasted a thought on them! Was too busy reassuring the bimbo’s mum that he’d get them out of there safely.”

“Not to mention that he destroyed Prime Minister Jones without a second thought for daring to cross him,” Sally, a veteran of the Sycorax invasion, added grimly. “I wonder if the Master would have had such an easy time to take over the country, were Ms Jones still in office.”

“Probably not,” Mickey agreed. “That woman was a fighter; and she was _right_. We can’t always wait for _him_ to swing by in his little blue box and save our arses. What if he miscalculates again? Or simply gets pissed off by someone again and chooses to leave us to our fate?”

“You’ve gathered quite the club of Doctor-haters here,” Jack said, a little flabbergasted. Trevor shrugged.

“We’re _Torchwood_ , Captain. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s our Number One enemy. We might have abandoned the policy of shooting him at sight, but that doesn’t mean we’d _like_ him. And _you_ , Captain, ought to open your eyes – he’s _not_ your friend… or the friend of any other human being. For him, we’re just pets. He might feel protective about us from time to time, but we must learn to fight our own battles. It’s about time we grew up.”

“And you really think we can manage without him,” Jack asked doubtfully. He’d seen the hostile universe beyond Earth’s small blue horizon and knew how utterly defenceless mankind was against most of the malevolent forces living out there.

“Managed pretty well on Pete’s World,” Mickey replied, conveniently forgetting that Pete Tyler from that alternate universe had practically kidnapped the Doctor to ensure his cooperation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Seeing that they wouldn’t likely come to any agreement about this particular topic, Jack parted company with the graveyard shift of this new, almost alien Torchwood Three and went down to the Vaults to check on Varyan. He felt strangely lost between these two extremes: a past he no longer belonged to and the future he couldn’t be sure he’d have here in the first place. 

Perhaps he should have accepted the Doctor’s invitation, after all, and gone with him, despite all the hurtful things that had been said between them. At least with the Doctor, he wouldn’t have to fear to remain back, alone, for quite some time yet.

Right now, though, he owed his ex-partner as much as seeing if Varyan was all right. He hadn’t been down here since they’d cleaned out Lisa’s room, incarcerated the bodies and destroyed the cyber-conversion unit. Tosh had been the one to establish the high-security cell during Ianto’s four-week suspension, and she’d done thorough work as always.

As the cell had been designed to contain human prisoners – or, at least, highly dangerous _humanoid_ ones – it looked very much like an average, windowless prison cell. It had a cot, a washstand and a toilet beyond a semi-translucent screen… and nothing else. Not even a light bulb that, if broken, could have been used as a weapon. Whatever light the cell got, came through the unbreakable transparent door.

If necessary, recalcitrant prisoners could be put in restrains, fastened to the wall, but Andy hadn’t gone so far with Varyan. The ex-Time Agent could walk all four square metres of his cell freely – not that it would seem to make him any happier.

“You sure as hell took your sweet time to get to me!” he snarled at Jack. “Did you really have to allow your pets to put me in a cage like some rabid dog?”

Jack shrugged. “You were the one to send us after radiation cluster bombs – if that’s what they really are.”

Varyan waved dismissively. “Let's not get hung up on details. What counts is the fact that we’ve found them.”

“Little embarrassing that you needed help to find them,” Jack commented dryly.

“A little humiliating you fell for the scam,” Varyan returned. “Your dolly birds did all my leg work. They’re a little stupid, but certainly useful.”

Jack shook his head tiredly. “Is that what you wanted? To find your so-called bombs? And now that we’ve finally got your secret weapon or treasure or whatever… what do you want _now_? Why the whole theatre?

“What I want is for you to come to your senses,” Varyan replied with glittering eyes. “Join me, Cleadon.”

“That’s not my real name, and you know that,” Jack said. Varyan shrugged.

“Who cares? That’s the name by which you were known in several galaxies. So come with me. Be that hero again. Back in the old routine. We'd be emperors. How can you stay tied to one planet when there's thousands of worlds, sparkling with wonder? We should be up there, among the stars, claiming them for our own. Just like before.”

For a moment Jack was seriously tempted. To be free again, to roam the stars with someone on his side to whom he would never need to apologise for his past, since they had _shared_ that past and had enjoyed every moment of it… yes, it _was_ very tempting.

But he also knew he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t Agent Cleadon any longer; he didn’t have that kind of freedom anymore. He was Captain Jack Harkness now, and Captain Jack Harkness had responsibilities. Even if his old team was gone and the new one didn’t seem to need him.

“I can't," he finally said with genuine regret.

Varyan’s eyes flashed darkly with anger. “Why not? What the hell is there to keep you here? Come on. The glitter of the galaxy. The mischief we could make…”

He trailed off obviously expecting his words to make Jack change his mind. But Jack only shook his head, half-amused and half-exasperated.

“You know, you never really mastered that temptation spiel.”

“It's not a spiel!” Varyan snapped. “It's fact.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, move on! Here I am, in a new life and you're still churning out the same old tunes. Sorry, but they don't play as well, now you're looking a little older. What are they, wrinkles around your eyes?”

“Laugh lines,” Varyan answered haughtily. 

Jack shook his head again, his amusement gone. Delusions were not a laughing matter; less so when he could see that those delusions were the only things that still kept Varyan going. What a shame!

“Oh, hell of a good joke,” he said, his heart heavy with sorrow.

Varyan glared at him. “It's you I'm laughing at.”

“Have fun, then,” Jack sighed and turned away form him in sad realization that they truly didn’t have anything else to say to each other.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“You know,” Ianto’s voice said from a shockingly short distance,” you really ought to teach me this language of yours one day. What is it called, the Common Speech?”

“Galactic Standard, actually,” Jack replied, looking at him in surprise. Ianto was wearing a different suit than at the time when he’d left the Hub; an old one that Jack could actually remember. And he didn’t seem particularly well-rested. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone home, courtesy of the gorgeous Detective Swanson, to sleep.”

“I had,” Ianto replied with a shrug. “Sleep didn’t prove very… _restful_ , though. So I came back to catch up with things. Trevor tells me they have already shared with you what had happened here during the Year That Never Was?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah; and they tore me a new one because of the Doctor and his antics,” he said dryly.

Ianto shrugged again. “I don’t blame them for _that_ , although they were certainly snarling at the wrong person. You’re not responsible for the Doctor’s mistakes.”

“Just for my own ones,” Jack said flatly.

“No more than the rest of us,” Ianto answered. “Let’s face it, Jack, no-one of the team was blameless in the Abaddon crisis; including me, and I should have known better.”

“How’s that?” Jack asked in surprise.

“I was there at the Battle of Canary Wharf,” Ianto pointed out. “I saw with my own eyes what tampering with spatial phenomena can do, and I still helped the others open the Rift.”

“Well, you did shoot Owen,” Jack reminded him.

“And what good did it do?” Ianto asked. “They still killed you and opened the Rift, and I didn’t hinder them. No; putting blame on each other leads to nowhere. That way madness lies. I’d prefer to wipe the records, all of them, and start afresh; every singe one of us, or there’s no point.”

He looked at Jack expectantly, and after an endless moment Jack nodded. Ianto was right. Drawing a line and start anew was the only way they could possibly work together again. Seeing his agreement, Ianto gave him the ghost of a smile.

“Good,” he said. “That’s settled then. We can figure out the details later. You look tired; why don’t you get some sleep?”

Jack shook his head. “I… I can’t… The dreams…”

But Ianto wasn’t so easily driven off his path, once he’d started.

“Come,” he said, taking hold of Jack’s arm in a no-nonsense manner. “You _must_ get some rest. Don’t worry; I won’t leave you alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I won't make any statement about Jack's real name. I'm safer off with aliases. *g*


	10. Dead Woman's Wish

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 10 – DEAD WOMAN'S WISH**

Ianto kept his word, as Ianto always did towards those he considered _his_ , and thus Jack spent the rest of the night in relative peace. He even managed to sleep a little, as long as Ianto held him in his arms, and even though the nightmares didn’t fail to come – this time about certain adventures as a Time Agent, unsurprisingly, that had gone terribly wrong – he got up somewhat refreshed in the next morning.

The same couldn’t be said about Ianto, but when Jack tried to apologize, he simply waved the apologies off.

“I’d have done the same for anyone of the team,” he said, and Jack knew that was true. It was in Ianto’s _nature_ to take care of others.

Unfortunately, it was also in his nature _not_ to take proper care of himself.

“You should have stayed home and slept,” Jack murmured. “You’re dead on your feet.” Ianto shrugged and suppressed a yawn. 

“You’re not the only one with nightmares,” he replied. “I’ll make coffee now. The others are about to come in any minute. Staff breakfast and debriefing in the boardroom, in thirty minutes. Go and charm them out of their knickers.”

“They do show unfortunate resilience against the Harkness charm,” Jack complained, but he went nonetheless.

Ianto looked after him in fond exasperation before turning to the coffee machine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Staff breakfast was an affair surprisingly similar to what it had used to be in his time. Ianto served coffee, Rhys distributed sandwiches and scones – apparently, donuts no longer counted as civilized food – and Tosh had half an eye on some scientific project displayed on her PDA while pretending to eat. This time it looked like an analysis on John Hart’s wrist strap that a moderately paranoid Mickey had taken from the Time Agent before putting him into that high security cell.

The others chatted away, including Sally and Trevor, who both adamantly refused to go home before the containers would be opened. Not that anyone would blame them; they were all eager to learn what the things were really hiding. The only one leaving was Rhys, who had to fetch Owen from _Providence Park_ and keep him around for his leave.

“I’ve already fed the prisoners,” Mickey told them in general, after Rhys had left. “We can start as soon as we’ve eaten.”

“I’ve given this thing a closer look,” Tosh turned her viewscreen with the display so that all could see it, “and compared the data with those we have from Jack’s wrist strap. I think I might be able to repair at least the scanning and tracking function. The teleport… well, that’s an entirely different cup of tea.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack said. “I’m not planning to go anywhere any time soon. Scan and tracking would be nice, though.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tosh promised. “As soon as we’ve dealt with these canisters… whatever they are.”

“Speaking of which,” Ianto drained his mug and looked at Andy, “would you be so kind and bring up Captain Hart?”

“Ain’t we waiting for Kathy?” Jack asked, while Andy left with Mickey in tow.

“Detective Swanson called in in the morning and asked to be excused,” Emma told him. “She’s got a new case; it seems urgent. She said she’ll contact Director Jones about the outcome.”

“Emma, I’ve asked you repeatedly _not_ to call me that,” Ianto said in mild exasperation. “I’ve got a name, you know.”

“Quite right, sir,” Emma replied. “However, this is an official debriefing, and it would be improper to use your given name when addressing you in your capacity as the leader of Torchwood Three.”

“Everyone else does,” Ianto pointed out for what was likely the hundredth time. “Save from Lloyd, that is.”

“SOCO routine,” Lloyd commented with a shrug. “We always addressed each other by our surnames. What’s your excuse?” she looked at Emma with a grin.

“Breeding and education,” Emma countered primly.

Trevor laughed. “Give up, Jonesy. Not even _you_ can out-stubborn a proper little lady from the 1950s.”

“Apparently not,” Ianto agreed sourly.

He _hated_ being called Director Jones. He accepted the job out of necessity, not because he’d have been interested in titles and positions. But he also realized that he’d never be able to make Emma understand _that_.

He sighed and asked Tosh and Lloyd to bring the containment boxes with the canisters and the pyramid, respectively, before Mickey and Andy would return with the prisoner. The last thing he wanted was John Hart to learn where they kept the dangerous artefacts. Based on the skills Jack had displayed on occasion, there was no easy way to keep a Time Agent out of restricted areas once he or she had learned about their existence.

Sally and Lloyd sat all three canisters on the table, in front of Ianto, while Tosh took the containment box with the pyramid. They didn’t dare to take it out, not as long as they couldn’t be sure that it would not detonate the canisters in some weird, futuristic way, blowing them all up in the process.

“I’ve got a _really_ bad feeling about this,” Lloyd muttered, eyeing the mysterious items warily. She was a scientist at heart, even if not one of Tosh’s format, and she saw it as a personal affront that they needed to rely on someone like Hart to solve a scientific problem.

“You and me, too,” Ianto agreed; then, seeing John Hart swagger in, flanked by his two guards, he added dryly. “Perhaps the good captain had cooled his heels long enough in our… erm… _guest_ room and will kindly tell us what’s in the containers.”

“Yeah, man, it’s come-clean time,” Mickey said with considerably less style.

The ex-Time Agent gave him an arched eyebrow. “Shut up, kid, when the grown-ups are negotiating,” he looked at Jack. “So, assuming I _do_ help you, what’s in for me?”

Jack shrugged and gestured towards Ianto. “He’s the boss. Ask him.”

“What?” Hart laughed incredulously. “You’re taking orders from Eye Candy here?”

“I’m taking whatever he’s willing to give me,” Jack replied with a suggestive leer.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Oh, great, Captain Innuendo is back in town! You know, Jack, you were a lot less annoying back when you could still die.”

Jack glared daggers at him. He had never exactly broadcast the fact of his immortality, and he’d have preferred if Varyan hadn’t learned about it, since it was as much a weakness as it could be an advantage. Bit it was already too late for _that_ , thanks to Mickey and his blabbermouth. Sometimes he wondered if the Doctor hadn’t been right, after all, to call him an idiot.

“I’ve already explained you, oh, about a dozen times, Mickey Mouse, that I can very well die, and it hurts like a bitch every single time I do,” he replied through gritted teeth. “It just never _lasts_. And coming back’s almost as bad as dying itself, so don’t you think it’s something I’d actually _enjoy_.”

“Whoa, whoa, don’t bite my head off, man!” Mickey protested. All I was saying…”

“Wasn’t relevant for the case at hand,” Ianto intervened calmly. “We’re here to deal with whatever might be in these canisters, and I want them to be dealt with _now_.”

Jack shot him a quick, grateful glance, and Ianto smiled slightly, without actually smiling. It was all in those stormy blue eyes of his; Jack was wondering _how_ he did it. Unfortunately, Varyan wasn’t quite willing to drop the topic just yet.

“You can’t die?” he repeated, after he’d managed to close his mouth again. “Never, ever?”

Jack refrained from correcting him. It had never worked in the past, so why waste time with such doomed efforts now?

“Never,” he replied simply.

“Now that's impressive,” Varyan commented slowly. “Seriously, you can earn a fortune in the Vegas galaxies with an act like that.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather not,” Jack replied dryly. “Been there, done that, hurt like a dog every time.”

“No but, really...” Varyan began, but Jack interrupted him.

“No, but really, you can't kill me. No matter how many times you try. I can't die. Ever”

There was a long, stunned silence while Varyan’s over-active mind worked out the ramifications. He wasn’t an idiot, after all. After a while, he shook his head.

“But what does it cost you?” he asked. “Every time you have to drag yourself back here, how does it feel? All that pain and trauma. Plus, you're reborn into this godforsaken mess. I pity you.”

Jack didn’t doubt that he actually meant it. For him, Earth was just one of those backwater planets Varyan would never set foot on, unless it was inevitable. But _he_ had learned to see this place differently. He’d made himself a life here – and hoped he’d be able to do so again.

“These people, this planet, all the beauty you could never see…” he said with a shrug. “That's what I come back for.”

“Well, goody on you,” Varyan said sarcastically. He thought some more about the whole thing, still clearly not understanding. “So, tell me,” he then said. “How does it work?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” Jack admitted. “No-one does, apparently. I’ve hunted down the last of the Time Lords to get some answers, but not even _he_ could tell me how it works. By all means and purposes, it _shouldn’t_. I’m an impossible thing.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve already realized _that_ part,” Varyan returned.

“And _you_ are a prick,” Lloyd countered. “So, if the two of you would kindly stop your manly re-bonding ritual long enough to deal with the problem at hand, we could all return to our actual work a lot earlier.”

Jack grinned. He found he liked Lloyd and her no-nonsense attitude, even if he found it a little insulting that she’d be so immune against his charm. _No-one_ was supposed to be immune to the Harkness charm!

Ianto, however, seemed to agree with Lloyd because he looked at Varyan – at _John_ – unimpressed.

“I believe our forensics expert is right,” he said. “I’d like you to open the canisters, _Captain_ ,” he emphasized the rank, making it crystal clear that he didn’t believe for a nanosecond that the other man would truly deserve it. “Mickey, keep him in your sight. If he tries anything stupid – shoot him. You know,” he added conversationally, for Hart’s sake, “we have very convenient ways to deal with corpses here. Incineration being only one of them.”

Hart glared at him with open hostility but Ianto didn’t even blink. Someone who had faced Daleks _and_ Cybermen – and that at the same time – and hunted Weevils on a regular basis, wasn’t going to get scared by a mere human. Even if said mere human was a rouge Time Agent.

Hart seemed to understand that, because he pulled a face and visibly gave in – for the moment anyway. Jack had no illusions about the effect being permanent.

“You’re no fun at all, Eye Candy,” he growled. Ianto raised an eyebrow. 

“I believe Jack would disagree,” he said with a dryness that would have put the High Gobi Desert to shame.

Several people nearly choked on their coffee, and Jack felt himself blush, which didn’t happen to him frequently. But that was Ianto for you. Once he came out of his reserve, he usually took no prisoners.

He was already back to his reserved self, though, and looked at John Hart impassively.

“The canisters, _Captain_ , if you please,” he said calmly. “Open them. _Now_.”

Hart looked as if he ware trying to stall them some more, but Mickey adjusted the aim of his weapon, leaving no doubt that he wouldn’t have any claims shooting the rouge Time Agent in the head. Hart murmured something angrily, in a dialect not even Jack understood, but opened the fist canister and took out something that looked like a tile. A completely smooth, dark grey tile, without any carvings or inscriptions or any sort of circuits visible on its surface.

“That,” said Lloyd, who’d had ample experience with crime scenes after bombings during her time with SOCO, “doesn’t look like a bomb. Or like a part of _any_ kind of bomb I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’ve seen so many,” Hart scoffed. Lloyd glared at him in unveiled disdain.

“You’d be surprised what I’ve seen while helping out the bomb squad,” she said. “Now, open the other canisters… slowly. A single wrong move, and you’re history; ‘cause I somehow doubt that you’d share Captain Harkness’ regenerative abilities.”

Hart snorted. “You don’t even have a gun!”

“No,” Lloyd agreed amiably. “But I have a high-energy laser torch on me, courtesy of a time-displaced citizen from the twenty-fifth century. If I narrow the beam to a diameter of oh-point-five millimetres like this,” she threw a switch, and the small, handhold tool gave a low hum, like a swarm of _very_ angry bees, “it will burn through your skull in half a second. So, be good and do what you’re told.”

Hart frowned at her. Lloyd stared back at him with unsmiling amusement. Jack’s opinion of her went up several notches. Bloody hell, the woman was one cold bitch; one he wanted on his side in a tense situation! Because getting on her wrong side wouldn’t have been pleasant.

Apparently, Hart had come to the same conclusion, because he shut up and opened the other two canisters, removing from them two other tiles, similar to the first one. Then he arranged all three tiles in the shape of a triangle on the table, without letting them touch each other.

“Still doesn’t look like a bomb to me,” Lloyd commented, keeping the humming laser torch pointed at Hart’s left eye. “My instincts tell me it _isn’t_ a bomb. So what _is_ it? And no more obfuscating. Listening to lies makes my trigger finger itch uncontrollably.”

Hart stole a look at her cold face, then at Jack’s darkening one… and sighed.

“It’s a locator device,” he admitted.

“You mean a radar of some sort?” Mickey asked with a frown. Hart rolled his eyes.

“God, boy you’re really daft, aren’t you? Pretty and eminently shaggable, but daft beyond hope,” ignoring Mickey’s furious expression, he turned back to Lloyd whom he apparently considered a more worthy opponent. “All right, listen, Ice Queen. That woman I told you about, had herself an Arcadian diamond, the rarest gem in the Damascene Cluster. This little gizmo serves to locate that particular diamond and nothing else.”

“How did the pieces end up here?” Ianto asked.

“Well, just when I'd got my hands on her, she only generates her own personal rift storm,” Hart growled. “God, I hate technological geniuses… present company excluded,” he added with a winning grin in Tosh’s direction.

Which totally failed to impress Tosh, of course.

“You said this was a dying woman's request,” she said accusingly. Hart shrugged.

“Yeah, she _was_ dying,” he answered with a total lack of respect for the now dead woman. “I shot her. But she’d already sent these things away via the rift storm. When I found out it ended up here, I couldn’t believe my good luck. Especially when my wrist strap reacted to the presence of _yours_ ,” he added, looking at Jack meaningfully. ”So, I'm thinking fifty-fifty? Even split, good deal. Or if anyone fancies an orgy?”

Everyone ignored his innuendo, including Jack. Ianto rolled his eyes but didn’t react, either.

“How does the device work?” he asked instead.

“Can I demonstrate without being shot?” Hart asked back.

“That depends on the outcome,” Ianto replied in all seriousness, making Jack wonder whether he truly had it in him to have John Hart shot.

Then he saw Ianto’s icy blue glare fixed on Hart and knew at once that the young Welshman had _not_ been bluffing. He would have Hart executed if the rogue Time Agent refused to co-operate. This was a new, hard and edgy and dangerous Ianto Jack had not known before, and while he found the new persona endlessly fascinating, he also mourned a little for the old Ianto; him of the bland suits, the quiet snark and the endearing habit to use his napkin as a bib. Somehow he didn’t think this new Ianto would still do _that_.

Just like Tosh, Ianto had come into his own. It was a natural growth for him, one that suited him well; but it was also a loss for Jack… and not the only one. Life kept changing around him, while he was caught in the endless loop of his immortality, resetting after each new death.

It was a depressing realization, but not exactly a new one.

Hart, too, had understood that Ianto meant what he’d said, because he got to work without further delay. He pressed the three tiles together. There was a soft click, and then the pieces kind of… melted into a flat triangle, with a quadratic hole in the middle.

Nothing else happened.

“It ain’t working!” Mickey exclaimed angrily, stating the obvious.

Tosh gave the device a closer look. “Of course not; it’s incomplete. I think it lacks a power source. I wonder what kind of energy cell it would use…”

“It must be a powerful one,” Trevor, too, was eyeing a triangle with that specific expression of every scientist given a new puzzle to work with. “And fairly small, as I assume it must fit into this hole here…” he trailed off, thinking frantically – then he snapped with his fingers in triumph.

“The pyramid!” he and Tosh cried out in unison.

“You mean that beeping thing we found on the Blowfish is the power source?” Lloyd asked. Tosh nodded.

“I guess so. It ought to fit in the centre of this triangle. And there has to be a reason why it emits a weak signal all the time. I think we should give it a try.”

“And what if this wannabe pirate is lying and the whole thing goes boom, as soon as we put it together?” Andy asked.

“There _is_ that risk,” Tosh admitted, “but I see no other way how we could learn the truth.”

“I could put the Hub into lockdown,” Ianto offered. “That would not save _us_ , of course, but it might contain the explosion.”

He gave Jack a questioning look. Jack shook his head.

“If there really _is_ a bomb, I doubt that even our defences would be strong enough to contain an explosion of such magnitude.”

“So, do we put it together or not?” Tosh asked.

Ianto looked at Jack askance again, and after a moment of hesitation, Jack nodded.

“Yep. Va… _John_ might be reckless and more than a little crazy, but he isn’t suicidal. He’d not risk blowing up himself with the rest of us.”

Ianto thought about the whole thing fore a moment… and then he gave in.

“Very well. Tosh, take out the pyramid.”

Tosh opened the containment box and took out the beeping, blinking little thing. John Hart reached for it, but Jack batted his hand away – and not too gently.

“Ah-ah-ah… keep your hand to yourself. You didn’t really think I’d give you the chance to run of with this… _thing_ , whatever it really is.”

Hart gave him a jaundiced look. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I don’t,” Jack replied, and really, he didn’t. He’d have done the same thing, back when he’d still been a Time Agent. “Try again, and I’ll break your arm, though. Just a friendly warning. Now, Tosh, are you ready to put our little puzzle together, or want _me_ to do it, just in case it blows up into our face.”

“I’ll do it,” Tosh said calmly. “I think you’re right; Blondie here wouldn’t blow himself up. Now let’s see if I’ll have any luck with it.”

She put the triangle pieces, now snapped together in one piece, over the pyramid. It fit perfectly. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the pyramid’s blinking turned into a steady glow, and it projected a holographic image upon the desk. The image of a beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a long, shimmering gown.

“This should give us the location of the diamond,” Hart said. “There she is.”

“The woman you murdered,” Tosh said accusingly. Hart shrugged.

“Details, irrelevant little details. We’re working on the bigger picture now. Let’s see what she has to say.”

For a really strange moment, Jack had the feeling as if the holographic woman could actually see them. She did follow the movements in the room with her eyes – but again, several millennia in the future, holographic technology would be a great deal more sophisticated than in the current time.

“Hello Varyan,” the hologram said. “You've travelled several galaxies for this, I assume. Well done.”

Hart bowed to the hologram with a sweeping gesture. “Thank you, gorgeous. Now, start talking.”

The hologram smiled thinly. “Except...There's no diamond.”

“ _What_?” Hart’s shocked disbelief would have been comical, but Jack had the unpleasant feeling that the real bombshell was still about to drop.

“Only this,” the hologram continued.

As if on clue, the metal pyramid opened to reveal a bright metal piece inside. The three-piece base spread, separated and twisted. The bright metal piece inside floated out and changed into a circular disc with clamps, several times the size of the original piece. It was an ominous sight.

“No, no, no!” Hart cried out in dismay. “No, no, no, no, no... there's got to be a diamond. It's all about the diamond!” He stared at the floating disc, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell is tha...”

Suddenly the disc zoomed on him and attaches itself to his chest, the metal clamps embedding a firm hold on him. A red light appeared on the disc’s surface and it started to tick. Hart cried out in pain and staggered backward. The holographic woman turned and smiled in his direction. It was creepy.

“It's an explosive device, which will latch on to the DNA of whoever killed me,” she explained pleasantly. “It'll detonate in ten minutes.”

There was shocked silence in the boardroom. Hart tried to tear the disc off but couldn’t remove it. It was clamped securely to his chest.

“It can't be removed without exploding, so don't bother trying,” the hologram continued, as if she could see them. It was _definitely_ creepy. “Good-bye... lover.”

“No wait!” Hart cried out frantically.

But the hologram was already turning away. “See you in hell!” the now-dead woman announced – and was gone. The pyramid shut down, its energy depleted. Only the explosive clamped to Hart’s chest kept ticking ominously.

“She can't be serious!” Lloyd said, pale with shock. “Ten minutes! The best bomb squad in Cardiff won’t be able to disarm a bomb in ten bloody minutes! Not even if they were familiar with the design.”

“Actually,” Ianto reached into his pocket and pulled out the stopwatch that was also ticking, “nine minutes fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight...” he held up the stopwatch and gave them a bland smile. “Always at the ready! Owen would be so proud of me.”

Under other circumstances Jack would have found the scene hysterically funny. If they weren’t all in deathly peril… well all the others, except _him_.

Lloyd turned to him. “Captain, you are the one with knowledge about future technology. In your opinion, how big is this explosion likely to be?”

Jack took a closer look at the disk… and his face darkened. “Intelligent metal, most likely thirty-sixth or thirty-seventh century tech, that size – _big_.”

“So we should really get him out of the city,” Ianto checked the remaining time. “Nine minutes thirty-eight.”

“You've got to help me!” Hart shouted. “Please!”

Jack glared at him unsympathetically. “Why should we? You were the one to bring _us_ into this mess. I reckon Rehab didn’t really work, eh?”

“Well,” Ianto said with eerie calm, his eyes on the stopwatch, “at least he did tell the truth, albeit involuntarily. There really _was_ a bomb, wasn’t it?”

“A _bomb_?” a new, extremely sarcastic voice said from the doorframe. “What the fuck are you _talking_ about, Teaboy?”

“One from a millennium and a half in the future that will go off in nine minutes and take half Cardiff with it,” Ianto replied matter-of-factly. “What are you doing here, Owen? You were supposed to spend your day off with Rhys.”

“Well, yeah, old blabbermouth dropped the bit about Jack being back, and I gave him the slip to see if it’s true,” Owen shrugged and walked in without being invited. “He’s probably still looking for me. Who’s the bloke in the nancy red coat anyway?”

Before anyone could have answered, John Hart made the best of the moment when everybody’s attention was turned to Owen. He punched Jack in the face, then grabbed Tosh, twisted her arms behind her back and pulled her backwards out the boardroom door. Both Andy and Mickey aimed their guns at him, but he dragged Tosh around as human shield.

“Get back!” he hissed. “Back, or I’ll break her neck!”

“Let her go, you bastard!” Trevor yelled. Jack could barely hold him back from attacking Hart, despite the fact that he was unarmed.

“Get back!” Hart repeated. He reached behind him, snatching up something from one of the empty workstations used to display as-yet uncatalogued alien technology. There was a beeping noise, then he dropped Tosh. But they all could see that the two now were handcuffed together – with the very same handcuffs the team had taken off Hart the day before.

Jack took a look at the handcuffs and sighed.

“You know, people, you really shouldn’t have such things lying around where every homicidal maniac can get his hands on them,” he said.

“Why?” Mickey asked. “Those are just handcuffs. We can saw them off, can’t we?”

”Not these, you can’t,” Jack replied. “They’re made of hypersteel, impermeable, deadlock sealed. Standard fifty-first century Time Agent equipment. No way to undo them, unless you have the key.”

“What key?” Mickey asked. Hart grinned at him like the madman he was.

“This key,” he produced, then promptly swallowed it. “Now you had better find a solution pronto or she'll be blown up with me,” he looked at Tosh almost apologetically. “Nothing personal, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure there isn’t,” Tosh replied dryly. “How much longer, Ianto?”

“Eight minutes fifty-three seconds,” Ianto was unshakable like the rocks of Gibraltar. “I’m waiting for suggestions, people.”


	11. Prodigal Sons, Resplendent Daughters

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 11 – PRODIGAL SONS, RESPLENDENT DAUGHTERS**

Owen pulled out a chair and sat down rather heavily for such a slim – and usually quite fit – man. The slight trembling of his hands revealed that his movement co-ordination was still off, though, so nobody wondered about his clumsiness. He listened to the arguments for about twenty seconds (based on Ianto’s regular announcements) before blurting out the first blunt question that had occurred to him.

“Would shooting him stop the DNA trigger?”

“No,” Jack replied, “Though I’m sorely tempted to give it a try anyway.”

“So?” Hart demanded. “What are we gonna do now, team? The orgy's still on offer. Especially now the cuffs are out.”

“We at Torchwood tend to prefer the _discipline_ part of the subculture to the _bondage_ part,” Ianto said in a pedantic tone. “And I don’t believe you’d enjoy _that_ ; unless you’re really into extreme pain.”

“You think you up to that, Eye Candy?” Hart taunted him.

“Oh, no,” Ianto admitted readily, “but I reckon _Jack_ is. I’d be happy to leave that to him, had we considerably more time than,” he glanced briefly at the stopwatch, "eight minutes forty-two seconds.”

 _That_ shut Hart up, probably remembering things better not discussed from his shared past with Jack, so that the others could think.

“Trevor,” Tosh said. “We’ve practically perfected that Rift predictor program, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Trevor’s eyes narrowed behind the wire-rimmed glasses suspiciously. “Why?”

Tosh ignored the question. “Anything in the next few minutes?” But she was already heading for her computer to check, dragging Hart with her by the handcuffs.

“Tosh, no way!” Jack cried out, understanding what she was hinting at before anyone else. Hart stared at him with a frown.

“What's she talking about?” 

Jack shook his head, unable to answer. How very characteristic for Tosh to put her own safety behind that of others! Tosh looked up at him, her eyes dark with sorrow but determined.

“If we're in the Rift when that disc explodes, the city will be safe,” she explained.

“And how does that save _us_?” Hart demanded.

“It doesn't,” Tosh replied simply. “Ianto, how much time do we have left?”

“Eight thirty-two, thirty-one... “Ianto counted down. Tosh nodded.

“That should be enough,” she leaned over her keyboard and typed in some search parameters one-handedly. “There it is; just as I thought. The car park where he arrived. The crack in the Rift is still active up there. That's where we're going.”

Hart glared at her incredulously. “You're bluffing.“

“Try me,” Tosh answered, deadly serious; then she grabbed him and pulled him after her as she left the workstation areas. “Andy, we’ll need the SUV – and a sure-handed driver.”

“On my way,” Andy was already running down to the garage.

“Toshiko, you can’t do that!” Trevor begged. “There has to be another solution.”

“Not in the next seven minutes, I’m afraid,” Ianto said darkly. “Unless we cut his hand off.”

Tosh shook her head. “That would only activate the bomb, making it think that somebody is trying to remove it. No, we must do this the hard way; there simply isn’t any other one,” she tugged on the handcuffs impatiently. “Don't make me pull you! We’ll take the fastest way up: the lift!”

Hart didn’t seem all too willing to follow her, but Jack grabbed him by the lapels and bodily dragged him onto the lift, starting it with the help of his wrist strap immediately. They were still only halfway up to the roof when he whirled around to face Owen.

“Owen, _think_! How can we fool a bomb that’s encoded to a person’s DNA?”

“How should I know?” Owen snapped. “I ain’t no bloody geneticist, am I?”

“No,” Ianto said, “but you’re a good medic, _and_ you’re good at improvising. Now, try to use that brain of yours. Tosh needs your help. You’re the only one here with medical knowledge.”

But Owen just shook his head miserably. He clearly didn’t have all his marbles together yet, therapy or no therapy.

“If we could only fool that sodding bomb somehow!” Lloyd said in anguish. “But how do you change someone’s DNA in a few minutes?”

No-one tried to give an answer; especially as Owen suddenly seemed to have a lightbulb moment – and a big one at that.

“Lloyd, you’re a frigging genius,” he said. “That’s _exactly_ what we’re gonna do.”

“ _What_?” Ianto asked. “How?”

“Don’t fret, Teaboy,” Owen replied jogging towards the autopsy bay. “I’m already working on it. Just have a car ready.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The others exchanged surprised looks; then Mickey shrugged and ran off to get the ersatz SUV ready. Owen tore the autopsy bay refrigerator open and took out a tray of sealed test tubes with the blood samples of the Torchwood Three team. 

He tossed a canister for the centrifuge to Lloyd, who started to understand what he was doing, and handed her vials of blood. Lloyd uncapped the vials and emptied them into the canister, one after another, creating a rather disturbing mixture. When all test tubes were empty, Owen started the machine to mix the blood.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Jack asked.

“Trying to fool the bomb,” Lloyd replied calmly, watching the centrifuge work. “We cannot change someone’s DNA permanently, but a temporary corruption of the coding ought to do the trick, if we inject this mixture directly into the blood stream, as close to the disc as possible.”

“You really think this will work?” Jack asked doubtfully.

Owen stopped the machine, grabbed the thoroughly mixed canister and handed it to Jack, together with a syringe.

”Trust me, Harkness,” he said. “As Teaboy said, I'm an improviser. You better do the injecting yourself, though. I don’t think my hands are stable enough for that.”

“I can do that,” Jack agreed. “Ianto, how much time…”

“Five minutes, twenty-two seconds,” Ianto told him. “Barely enough.”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s go, then!

The three of them stepped onto the slab of the invisible lift to leave the Hub on the shortest way. Mickey was already waiting for them with the second SUV.

“Get in!” he shouted. “We’ve gotta go!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Rhys was royally pissed when he realized that he’d lost Owen. His relationship with the acerbic doctor was a tense one to begin with, even though he considered it part of his duties to visit him in _Providence Park_ routinely. He still couldn’t understand why would Ianto want _him_ to babysit Owen on his leave. Speaking of which, since when did patients go on leave in the middle of intensive therapy? Would that not increase the chances of a setback?

And now he’d lost Owen. Terrific. What if the doctor had already found the next best pub and was drinking himself into a stupor right now? Rhys would never live it down, being he reason for the failure of Owen’s therapy. Mickey would see to _that_. And Ianto would make his best Queen Victoria impression ever, not being amused at all.

It wasn’t so that Rhys would _fear_ Ianto in any way. He just hated to admit that he’d screwed up, especially with Owen. But that couldn’t be helped now. So he sighed heavily and decided to face the music right away. The sooner he got through the dressing-down by Ianto and the supposedly funny comments of his co-workers the better. _Then_ he’d need to get help with finding Owen.

He sighed again, left his car in the Millennium Centre parking lot and headed back to the Hub – via tourist office, to put off the inevitable just a little longer.

He reached the door at the same time as a woman who didn’t really look like a lost tourist. A beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a pin-striped trouser suit and a pale silk blouse, carrying a flat bag hung over one shoulder; perhaps a laptop case, with or without an actual laptop within. She moved with the easy self-confidence of some big corporate operative or something like that as she entered the tourist shop and flashed her ID card to Emma with a winning smile.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Martha Jones, medical officer of the local UNIT base,” she said. “I’m looking for Captain Jack Harkness.”

“This is a tourist information shack, Miss,” Emma replied amiably. “We don’t have anyone from the military working for us; nor are we, in any way, affiliated to either branch of the armed forces.”

Rhys suppressed a grin. Emma was almost as good at obfuscating as Ianto himself. Plus, she was very pretty, which helped distracting most blokes from their original purpose. Unfortunately, Doctor Jones was _not_ a bloke; nor seemed she be one who’d be easily distracted.

“You can stop lying to me, you know,” she said, grinning. “As I said, I’m with UNIT, and I happen to know that this is Torchwood, and that Captain Harkness is the leader of it. We… travelled together a lot lately.”

“Then your information is a bit outdated, Miss,” Emma said, without as much as blinking. “Captain Harkness is no longer the head of the organization. And he isn’t available at the moment anyway.”

“Where _is_ he then?” Doctor Jones demanded.

“I’m afraid I’m not authorized to give you that information,” Emma replied calmly.

“Have they been called to an emergency?” Rhys asked.

Emma, only now noticing his arrival, smiled at him. “Indeed, they have. We’ll know how it ends in, oh, about five minutes. But what are _you_ doing here?”

“Owen gave me the slip,” Rhys admitted glumly. “I wanted to ask the geeks if they could help me locate him; and I’ll need help to catch him again.”

“Oh, I see,” Emma smiled. “Well, don’t worry about him. He came right here and is with the others now.”

Rhys visibly deflated with relief. Emma patted his hand encouragingly and offered him a candy from one of the round glass jars that stood on the counter. He accepted the treat absent-mindedly; it was a very _domestic_ scene one wouldn’t have expected to see at Torchwood, of all places. Doctor Jones, who’d been listening to them with interest, suddenly grinned with newfound understanding.

“Owen? Would that be Doctor Owen Harper, the Torchwood medic?”

Rhys looked at her in surprise. “You know him?”

She shook her head. “Not personally. But Jack told us a great deal about his team, so it almost feels as if I’d really know them all,” she glanced at Emma. “He never mentioned _you_ , though; not that I could remember.”

“I’m new,” Emma explained simply. “And so is Rhys here.”

“Rhys?” Doctor Jones eyed him with unveiled curiosity. “You’re Gwen’s boyfriend?”

“ _Was_ ,” Rhys corrected bitterly. He had come to terms with Gwen’s treatment of him, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t still hurt. “Until she kicked me out for what she thought would be a better perspective.”

“Really?” the pretty eyes of Doctor Jones widened in surprise. “Jack always thought nothing short the end of the world could separate the two of you.”

“Well, it _was_ the end of the world… more or less,” Rhys answered thoughtfully. “You are with UNIT; ask them for records of Abaddon and the whole mess afterwards.”

“I don’t have to; Jack told me about Abaddon,” Doctor Jones said. “I still don’t see why _that_ should have separated you. Gwen opened the Rift to bring you back, after all.”

Rhys shrugged. “I guess she was just feeling guilty. It’s a moot point now anyway.”

“Perhaps,” Doctor Jones allowed; then she looked at Emma. “And you really can’t tell me where to find Jack?”

Emma shook her head. “They’re in the middle of action, and they need to focus. But,” she glanced at Rhys, who nodded, “you can wait here for him. They ought to be back, shortly; assuming we’ll still _be_ here in five minutes.”

Doctor Jones rolled those pretty eyes of hers. “Oh, no! Don’t tell me the world is about to end _again_!”

“No,” Emma said, “but half Cardiff might be blown up in,” she checked her watch, “three minutes, and we’re, unfortunately, way too close to the explosion site.”

The calm manner with which she was talking about the possibility of their abrupt death was eerie, especially coming from someone this young.

“We should close the office and go down to the Hub,” Rhys suggested. “We’d be safe there… hopefully.”

Emma glanced at Doctor Jones uncertainly, but Rhys waved off her concern.

“It seems Jack’s already told her everything about the base,” he pointed out, “so what further harm would it do if she actually got to _see_ it?”

“There’s that,” Emma agreed and pushed the button under the counter, causing the door of the tourist office to shut and the secret entrance to the Hub to open. “Let’s hurry up, then.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
In the meantime, Torchwood’s Number One SUV – driven by Andy – had arrived at the garage rooftop where John Hart had first appeared. It came to a screeching halt. Tosh jumped out of it, dragging a loudly protesting Hart with her by the handcuffs.

“Out!” she hissed. “Get out, you miserable rat, or so God help me, I’ll make you regret the day you were born!”

“Ow, ow!” Hart whined at the treatment, but there was a leer on his face as he added, “I do love a woman who's rough.”

Tosh ignored him. “Ianto, how long…”

“Fifty-one seconds,” Ianto replied via headset. “Hold out, Tosh, we’re almost there!”

“That won’t help us now,” Tosh looked out, waiting for the Rift crack to show itself. A moment later a golden gaseous light appeared – faint at first, then larger and larger. “I was trying to find the frequency the device works on on our way here – and I couldn’t. There's no chance of jamming it!”

“I know,” Ianto said. “Forty-five seconds.”

“Then we have to go,” Tosh said simply. 

She started towards the Rift crack, pulling Hart along with her. Hart did his best to resist the pull.

“You're not really gonna sacrifice yourself are you?” he asked incredulously.

“I’ve no other choice,” Tosh replied, “thanks to _you_.”

“No!” Hart protested. “What about a last-minute rescue? What’s the point of being on a team if you don't get a last-minute rescue?”

“Afraid it doesn’t always work like that,” Tosh shrugged, listening to Ianto’s countdown with half an ear. Then she looked at Andy who was watching them with saddened eyes. “Tell Trevor… tell him that I’m sorry…”

“Forty seconds,” Ianto announced via headset.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Martha Jones couldn’t help being impressed as Emma and Rhys were leading her through the secret tunnel to the lift, and then down to the hidden base of Torchwood Three. The sheer size of the place was overwhelming, and the dripping water tower, the futuristic technology of the workplaces and the pterodactyl flying in wide, lazy circles under the roof only added to the strangeness of it. Batman’s cave was nothing compared with this, she decided.

She’d been to a few stunning places during her travels with the Doctor, both alien ones and ones from mankind’s shining future. But _this_ was something that average, contemporary humans had built for themselves – even if with the help of alien technology – and so she found it even more amazing. _Because_ it was mostly human. Because it was a living proof of the human skill to adapt.

Plus, it was clear by the sight of it that this base was _old_ – according to Jack, more than a hundred years old. Generations of humans had worked here, monitoring the dangerously unpredictable Rift in space and time, fighting – or using – whatever the Rift would choose to spit out. Yes, she knew that some things that Torchwood Three had done (among others to _Jack_ personally) had been wrong. That didn’t change the fact that ultimately they had helped to protect the Earth for more than a century, and _that_ was something she had to respect.

For such a cavernous place, there were only a relatively small number of people in the working area. But again, half the team – or probably more than just the half – was out in the field, trying to prevent the apocalypse of the week from happening, Martha reminded herself. That left two blonde women – a young and pretty one and one a decade or so older, still handsome, but with a certain hardness to her that was born from experience – and a bespectacled, bald young bloke who was very obviously a geek.

“Team, greet Doctor Martha Jones,” Rhys announced, taking on himself the task to make the introductions. “She’s a friend of Jack’s apparently.”

“That a reason to show her the supposedly secret base?” the older blonde asked with a raised eyebrow. Rhys grinned.

“She’s also the medical officer of the local UNIT base, Lloyd,” he turned to Martha. “Lloyd used to be with the police, you know. Once a copper, always a copper.”

“SOCO,” the blonde corrected, offering Martha a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Jones. I’m Sara Lloyd; and I was _never_ a cop. We at SOCO are scientists.”

“You mean lab rats, when it comes high,” the bald bloke snorted, getting up to shake Martha’s hand, too. “Doctor Trevor Howard, formerly from Torchwood London. Worked for UNIT Headquarters after the Battle of Canary Wharf for a while, too, so we’re practically colleagues. And this,” he nodded towards the younger blonde, “is Sally Jacobs, also from UNIT originally.”

“The veterans are off to save Cardiff,” Sally added with a smile. “So we newbies are in charge now.”

Martha looked at Trevor in surprise. “I thought Jack had severed ties with London,” she said. Trevor shrugged.

“Well, _Jonesy_ hadn’t. And Captain Harkness wasn’t even here, off sailing among the stars with the Doctor… and with _you_ , I presume,” he added, giving Martha a critical look, “so he isn’t exactly in the position to protest, is he?”

“He didn’t left to go on a pleasure cruise,” Martha felt obliged to defend Jack. Trevor nodded.

“We know. It doesn’t change the fact that Toshiko and Jonesy had to deal with all the shit alone. Cause your ex wasn’t a big help, mate,” he shot an apologetic look at Rhys, who made no attempt to argue.

“So, where’s everyone?” he asked instead.

“Turns out Captain Harkness’ homicidal ex _has_ led us to a bomb, after all,” Trevor summarized the latest events for him. “Just a different one than he’d said: a bomb coded to his own DNA.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bastard,” Rhys commented without compassion. Trevor grimaced.

“Yeah, but as soon as he realized that, he snapped Toshiko, and before we knew what hit us, he was handcuffed to her and swallowed the key. Bloody bomb’s about to go off within the minute, taking half of Cardiff with it, unless Captain Harkness and Doctor Harper manage to confuse it by manipulating the man’s DNA.”

“Is that even possible, in such short a time?” Martha asked doubtfully.

“Let’s hope it is, 'cause otherwise Toshiko won’t have any other choice than jumping into the Rift and dragging that moron with her, in order to save us all,” Trevor said grimly. “And I wouldn’t even get to kill him slowly and very, very painfully for that afterwards.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tosh had almost reached the Rift crack, dragging the extremely reluctant John Hart after her, when the screeching tires of a car approaching caught her attention. She turned and see the second Torchwood SUV speed out of the entrance, Mickey driving it like a madman. With the ticking of the seconds remaining for them subconsciously echoing in her mind, she watched the unfolding events like a film, unable to react.

The car stopped. To her surprise, Owen got out of it, running towards them. Jack jumped out next, a… _syringe_ between his teeth. What were they _doing_? Ianto followed them, stopwatch in the hand.

“Thirty seconds,” he announced ominously.

In the next moment, Jack tackled both Tosh and Hart, slamming them backwards to the concrete. He stabbed the syringe needle directly into Hart’s chest, injecting him with… with something _red_ that looked suspiciously like blood.

“Agh! Get off me!” Hart grabbed Jack’s wrist, trying to pulled him off, but to no awail. After the syringe was emptied into him, however, Jack let go and backed away, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction – which did not come.

“Owen, it's not working!” he cried out in despair.

“Fifteen seconds!” Ianto warned.

Kneeling next to Hart, Tosh looked up to them. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Trying to confuse the disc!” Owen replied tersely.

“Why hasn't it worked?” Jack demanded.

Owen pulled his own hair in frustration. “I don't know! I was sure it would!”

“Twelve seconds!” Ianto counted quietly, avoiding to look at anywhere but that bloody stopwatch.

“Jack, do something!” Tosh pleaded. 

He was her last hope – her one-time saviour, whom she’d secretly trusted to pull a trick out of the sleeve of that ridiculous greatcoat of his in the last moment… until now. But Jack only looked at her in helpless despair, his eyes rapidly filling with tears. Tosh nodded, understanding that there really wasn’t anything he could do; then she grabbed Hart by his shirt and yanked him up. She looked back at Jack in a final gesture of good-bye.

“I've gotta go, Jack,” she said. Jack reached down and grabbed Hart to help her when there was a soft _click_ , and as they pulled Hart to his feet, the disc fell off without forewarning.

”Five... Four... “ Ianto counted down unerringly.

Jack picked up the disc and hurled it into the Rift crack, just as Owen turned and grabbed Mickey who happened to stand closest to him, pushing him back toward the cars. Ianto kept counting.

”Three... two ... one! Go!”

The disc entered the Rift at this very moment and exploded. Owen, Andy, Mickey and Ianto took cover behind the cars. Jack turned and started running with Tosh and Hart. 

”Run!” he yelled.

The explosion ripped out of the Rift in a spectacular fountain of light, sound, and time. Its force lifted Jack, Tosh and Hart clear off the pavement. They hit the ground – and the bright day turned into night immediately.

They turned around and looked back at where the Rift had been. Nothing could be seen there. Jack looked at his watch with a surprised frown. ”What the hell?”

”Jack, what's going on?” Tosh asked, rubbing her aching shoulder with her free hand. She’d fallen rather heavily. “Why's it gone dark?”

”The Rift's reverted to the moment he came through,” Jack pointed at Hart with his chin. “Everything's jumped back to the beginning of the night.”

”Like he was never here,” Tosh realized. “You know this time-reset is getting tiresome after a while.”

Owen, Andy, Mickey and Ianto returned and joined them, catching the gist of their conversation. 

“That’s what has happened?” Ianto asked. “Is it a temporal displacement?”

“Makes your tongue tingle, doesn't it, Eye Candy?” Hart leered at him. “Lovely!”

Jack, however, was less than pleased with the turn of events.

“Now we've got to avoid ourselves, unless we’d want to cross our own timeline and cause a time paradox,” he groused. “Great!”

”Perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing, after all,” Ianto said quietly. “It will give us all the time to deal with the aftermath – and to _talk_.”

“Perhaps,” Jack agreed reluctanly. Tosh, in the meantime, was having other concerns. 

“What was in the syringe?” she asked Owen.

Their doctor shrugged. “Torchwood DNA.“

Tosh raised an eyebrow. “Meaning _what_ exactly? “

”DNA samples from all of us, fused and injected into his heart," Owen explained. "Temporarily corrupted his DNA coding, confused the disc.”

”You mean, there's a bit of all of you inside of me?” Hart glared at him as if he were about to get sick. “Sweet goddesses, that's all I need.”

Tosh ignored him. “Thank you, Owen,” she said simply.

Owen shrugged. “You're welcome. Now what?”

“Now we’re going back to the Hub and work out a way to separate Tosh from this idiot,” Ianto replied coldly. “If nothing else works, I’ll let Janet bite off his hand.”

“Janet?” Hart didn’t seem particularly concerned. In fact, he seemed amused by the prospect.

“Our resident Weevil,” Ianto explained in the same icy tone.

 _That_ wiped the smug grin off Hart’s face. He obviously knew what Weevils were.

”Actually... “ he swallowed hard, “that won’t be necessary.”

Motioning Tosh closer, he tilted his head back, reached down into the back of his mouth, gagged a little – and pulled out the key.

“Old Artesian trick,” he explained. “Keep it in the lining of the throat. Has a lot of uses.”

”I imagine it does,” Tosh said dryly. “You had that all along?”

Hart shrugged. “You were my passport to survival,” he unlocked the handcuffs and added in an _almost_ apologetic tone. “No hard feelings. Well, not in that sense.”

“Oh, none at all,” Tosh agreed with a falsely sweet smile. Then she stepped even closer to him and rammed her knee into his crotch with all the strength she could master. “You won’t have any _hard_ feelings for quite a while, I think.”

She might not have the same physical strength as Kathy Swanson, but the impact was still hard enough for the ex-Time Agent to howl in pain. All other men winced in sympathetic pain.

“What the hell is it with you, twenty-first century women and damaging a guy’s family jewels?” Hart complained, while Jack eyed Tosh with almost proprietary pride.

“That’s my girl,” he declared. “Well done, Tosh!”

Tosh shrugged and smiled at him in relief. “I had a good coach,” she replied, backing away from Hart who was still clutching to his crotch with both hands.

Ianto looked at Tosh with a slight smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said to Tosh; then he turned to Hart. “I want you gone.”

Hart tilted his head to the side, looking up to him. “If you need a new team member...”

“Actually, we do,” Ianto replied, “but you won’t even make it on my list.”

“Really?” Hart clearly had a hard time to believe _that_. “You should reconsider, Eye Candy. I could...”

“No, thanks,” Ianto said. “I already have _one_ rogue Time Agent in the team, and that’s more than enough.”

Hart still wasn’t ready to give up just like that. “But I can’t leave without my wrist strap, you know. You guys confiscated it and never gave it back. “

Ianto looked at Jack, who shrugged and took Hart’s wrist strap out of his pocket, throwing it at his ex-partner. Hart caught it one-handedly and fastened it around his wrist again. Then he looked at Jack, hesitating.

“Go now, and you can harness the residual Rift energy,” Jack said impassively. 

“Listen... “ Hart began, but Jack fell him in the word.

“Good-bye.” Hart waited for a minute, then he shrugged, accepting the inevitable.

”Okay,” he grabbed Jack and kissed him. Hard. Then he took a step back and patted him on the chest before heading for the Rift. He pressed a button on his wristband and the golden gaseous light appeared. Just as it began to engulf him, he looked at Jack for one last moment.

”Oh! By the way...” he said, “I meant to tell you: I found Gray.”

For a moment, Jack was stunned, as if someone had shot him with a tranquilizing gun. Hart watched his reaction, smiled grimly, then turned and disappeared into the gold light. The Rift crack vanished.

“Jack,” Tosh asked gently, as the others gathered around them. “Who's Gray?”

Jack turned his back to them. He needed to take a moment to answer, still processing _that_ bit of information. He took several labouring breaths and shook his head a little. No, he wasn’t sure whether he could believe Varyan or not; his ex-partner was a compulsive liar. On the other hand, if he _really_ wanted him back, Varyan might even be telling the truth, for this one time… He feared he’d never know. Not after they’d kicked Varyan out.

”It's nothing,” he finally said. “Let's get back to work.”

Ianto looked at him in a way that told he knew Jack was lying through his teeth but didn’t press. Not right now anyway. Jack hadn’t any illusions for the near future, though. After all, they’d have to hide from their future selves for at least two days. Plenty of time for Ianto to do a little questioning of his own.

“Where are we going?” Tosh asked. “We can’t go back to the Hub…”

“The safe house in Splott is currently empty,” Andy reminded them. “It will be a bit crowded for six people, but it will have to do.”

”It _will_ do,” Ianto decided. “Let’s go.”


	12. Harkness Redux

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**CHAPTER 12 – HARKNESS REDUX**

The resetting of time might have gone unnoticed in the Hub, had Martha not been with them. But she _was_ there, and she was alerted by the TARDIS key that she wore on a chain around her neck growing warm, that something had happened to the space-time continuum.

“Whoa,” she said quietly. “I think we’ve just been hit by a temporal displacement wave. I recognize the tingling feeling; it happened to me while travelling with the Doctor.”

“You mean time has been reset _again_?” Trevor asked with a frown, while the others, save from Sally, were giving them blank looks. Martha nodded. “Is there any way to tell by how much?”

Martha opened the decorative casing of the TARDIS key, which was also a nifty little tool to register any disturbances in the flow of time and studied it for a moment.

“My temporal scanner says about two days,” she finally said. “We’re back to the evening before I would come to Cardiff.”

“Are we supposed to realize this at all?” Lloyd asked.

“No; and we wouldn’t, if we weren’t practically sitting over the Rift here,” Trevor explained. “Which means, we might cross our own timeline here… and that could lead to serious disturbances in the fabric of the universe.”

Rhys stared at him with a strange mixture of admiration and disbelief. “I don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about, mate, but it doesn’t sound good,” he commented.

“It isn’t,” Martha said. “It could bring the Reapers upon us, and that would be pretty much the end not only of us but that of the entire human race.”

“Charming,” Lloyd commented dryly. “What the hell _are_ those Reapers?”

“According to the Doctor, they are monstrous creatures linked to Time itself,” Martha explained. “They search out disturbances in time, such as temporal paradoxes – like two different versions of us existing in the same time slot – leave the Time Vortex and _sterilise_ the area by devouring everything. Apparently, they find older objects tastier than newer ones and sentient beings of more interest than inanimate objects.”

“That sounds like some bad horror film,” Rhys said. “How do you get rid of them?”

“You don’t,” Martha answered grimly. “There’s nothing in the entire universe that could harm them. They could devour the human race within hours, and even the Doctor would be powerless to stop them. People would be consumed without even knowing the Reapers are there.”

“That’s impossible,” Trevor said. “ _Nothing_ is absolutely omnipotent. Sooner or later, there will always be something that’s even stronger.”

“They can’t be defeated by strength,” Martha said. “However, they can be banished, if the timeline is restored to its original condition, and everything will return to how it was before, as though they were never there; and everyone would forget about them.”

“How comes then that you know about them?” Lloyd, born as a sceptic and proud of it, asked doubtfully.

“I never actually met them, and I’m eternally grateful for that,” Martha replied. “The Doctor and Rose – that was my predecessor as his companion – have, though, and since the TARDIS creates her own bubble in space-time, Rose didn’t forget. She eventually told Jack about it, and Jack told me. I do believe that Jack had had an encounter with the Reapers while he was a Time Agent, too. He never admitted it, but…” she shrugged.

“All right,” Trevor said, “since neither of us is really interested in meeting the time monsters, we should get out of here, in order to avoid ourselves. Rhys, do you have any suggestions where we should go?”

“The safe house in Splott ought to be empty,” Rhys answered after a moment of consideration. “What about the Weevils, though? Won’t they duplicate or whatnot?”

Trevor shook his head. “No; the Vaults are sufficiently shielded from the Rift’s effects. They’ll be all right. We ought to warn Captain Harkness, though; they must have been exactly on the spot where the time-reversal took place and will be in danger to run into themselves, too.”

“I believe Jack would be more than aware of that danger,” Martha said, “but better safe than sorry. Give them a call.”

“I’ll do it,” Sally said hurriedly, reaching for the wireless phone on her desk. She was their comm girl, after all.

The conversation with Ianto – she had called her boss, of course, not Jack – only took about thirty seconds.

“They’re already on their way to Splott,” she told the others. “Ianto said we should take his car, since both SUVs have been taken by the field teams.”

“Twelve people in that tiny house?” Rhys grimaced. “That’s gonna give _crowded_ a whole new meaning.”

“It will,” Trevor agreed,” but we don’t have any other choice, do we?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The ”safe house in Splott” proved fairly small indeed, with only a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom downstairs and two bedrooms and another bathroom upstairs. It was clear that sleeping conditions would _not_ be very comfortable – especially as the field teams had already arrived.

After some discussion, they decided to let the women have the bedrooms – especially as Emma needed to lie down in a darkened room, due to a splitting headache caused by the temporal disturbance – and the men made themselves as comfortable as possible on the living room floor. Andy dug out inflatable mattresses for them from the storage room under the staircase, together with small hand pumps, and with the help of Mickey and Rhys, he began to blow them up properly.

“This is my house, you know,” he explained to a surprised Jack. “I inherited it from an eccentric aunt, less than a year ago. I just never _lived_ here – it was too far from my workplace. So I kept my flat near the police station, and when I came to work for Torchwood, I offered the use of this place as a safe house.”

“Andy is a very generous man,” Sally commented with a certain fondness in her voice that spoke of more than just professional interest.

“Only practical,” Andy replied, turning an interesting shade of magenta; especially his ears were practically glowing. “All right, folks, beds are ready; what about dinner? The pantry is well-stocked; we only need someone who cooks for us.”

All eyes turned to Rhys expectantly, who rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

“What am I, the Mam of you lot?”

“Yes,” the others, with the exception of Jack, replied in unison, and Emma smiled at him winningly.

“Rhys, dear, you know you’re the best cook of us all. Come on, I’ll help you, and we’ll be done in no time.”

Rhys gave in, albeit a little reluctantly, and he and Emma vanished in the kitchen, announcing that lasagne would be ready in roughly one hour.

“Fine with me,” Ianto shook off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. “Coffee anyone?”

“You mean you have a coffee machine in this house?” Jack asked, highly amused.

Ianto gave him a blank look as if his professional pride had been insulted.

“ _All_ safe houses are equipped with the means of preparing a proper cup of coffee,” he replied. “Now, if you’d like to play catch-up with Miss Jones here, I’d join the two of you as soon as I got the team sufficiently caffeinated.”

“You know who I am?” Martha asked in surprise.

“Jonesy knows _everything_ ,” Trevor grinned, levitating in Tosh’s direction in a rather unsuccessful attempt to make his action appear accidental. “That’s part of his job.”

“Actually, I’m one of the few people who remember the Year That Never Was,” Ianto explained. “Sally, Trevor and me were practically sitting on the open Rift, and while we rarely dared to use the comm system, we got glimpses of you and your quest. We know you and Jack were travelling with the Doctor, together. Go and chat about old times. I’ll be with your shortly.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Was that a promise or a threat?” Martha asked as they walked through the walled garden towards a canopied two-man swing. Jack grinned.

“With Ianto? Probably both,” they sat down in the double seat, rocking softly back and forth. “So, how did it go with UNIT? Did you have a good interview?”

Martha shrugged. “Good enough. Granted, Colonel Mace isn’t exactly my dream of a supervisor, but when it comes to the actual daily work, I’ll be pretty much my own boss, and I like that.”

“So you’ve accepted the offer?” Jack asked. Martha nodded.

“Yeah. They said I could go and work for the UNIT headquarters in London if I wanted, but I preferred this assignment. There, I’d be just one of several junior doctors. Here I’ll be the medical officer. I get to do my own research, pick my own team, create my own working schedule… _and_ I might get to see the one or other alien, too.”

“You chose _not_ to work in London?” Jack frowned. “Why on Earth would you do that? You’d be much closer to your family there.”

“Which is one of the reasons why I chose Cardiff,” Martha smiled ruefully. “I love my family to pieces, but too much closeness would drive me up the walls. Besides, they’ve got each other to deal with the memories; and at least _something_ good came out of all that horror: Mum and Dad are back together.”

“Really?” Jack found unexpected delight in that news. “That’s great! How did your father’s girlfriend take it?”

“About as well as it could be expected,” Martha laughed quietly. “But Dad finally realized what a greedy little airhead she is, and now she can look out for some other old fool to sponsor her expensive lifestyle.”

Jack nodded, glad that the family that had embraced him as if he’d been one of their own was now reunited.

“What about your siblings?” he asked.

“Leo still lives with his girlfriend, and they’re quite happy with their baby,” Martha said. ”Tish… she’s still looking. For the right job, for the right bloke… only God knows for what else.”

“And what about you?” Jack asked. “Are you still looking, too? Not for the right job, obviously, but for the right bloke?”

Martha shrugged and smiled in embarrassment.

“I just might… should he cross my way.”

“Speaking of which,” Jack remembered, “I asked Tosh to have the background of this Doctor Milligan checked for you. So far, it looks nice. He’s single, not currently affiliated with anyone, he’s clean, and if you can live with the fact that he likes to break the speed limit occasionally, he could be a good choice.”

“You shouldn’t have spied on him!” Martha chided him half-heartedly. Jack ignored the remark and kept grinning at her until she gave in. “I’d like to give it a try, you know, but he wouldn’t even remember me! And he’s in London, I’ll be in Cardiff… it would be hard to run into him by accident.”

“Then we’ll have to help fate onto the right track,” Jack spotted Ianto approaching them with a tray full of coffee cups and biscuits. “Hey, Ianto, isn’t Torchwood looking for a new medic?”

“We are,” Ianto handed them their coffee. “Even if Owen makes a full recovery, which is by no means certain yet, we’ll need a second doctor: preferably one with some A&E experience, considering the life we lead.”

“I might just know the right candidate for you,” Jack told him.

Ianto looked at Martha in surprise. “I thought you’ve accepted the job offer from UNIT.”

“She has,” Jack said. “It’s a different doctor. Sally has his credentials and full background, in case you want to check.”

Ianto stiffened a little, clearly searching for the right words for what he was about to say. “Jack, I appreciate your attempt to help, but hiring new personnel is _my_ job now.”

“I’m not trying to invade your territory,” Jack replied dryly. “I had the guy checked because Martha has a… _personal_ interest in him.”

“He’s worse than my big sister,” Martha told Ianto as if in confidence. “I’ve walked the Earth on my own for a whole year, fleeing from the Toclafane and the Master’s thugs, but he doesn’t trust me when it comes to guys.”

“He does have a protective instinct of the size of a planet,” Ianto deadpanned; then he smiled at her. “I’ll check the credentials of your friend, Miss Jones, and if they match our requirements, I’ll consider offering him a job. _If_ he’s willing to consider taking such a risky one, that is.”

“Somehow I don’t think the risks would frighten him away,” Martha said. “He’s not my friend, though.”

“Not yet,” Jack grinned. “But that can change.”

Ianto raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Are we trying to protest the Earth from alien threat or are we running a dating service?”

“Are the two things mutually exclusive?” Jack asked back.

Ianto shook his head in mock exasperation. “Only you, Jack. Only you can ask something like that.”

Jack shrugged. “I’m unique that way.”

“You’re unique in many ways, Jack,” Martha leaned closer and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m getting the feeling that the two of you have a lot to discuss. I’ll take my coffee now and go to make Toshiko’s acquaintance. After what you and the Doctor have told me about her, I think we’ll hit off instantly.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Why would she think that we had things to discuss?” Jack wondered after Martha had left. Ianto sat down next to him in Martha’s abandoned place.

“Because she’s an observant woman, and because we do,” he replied. “We need to discuss your future place in Torchwood… and probably other matters as well.”

“I’m not trying to wrestle leadership back from you,” Jack said defensively. “Naked or otherwise,” he added with a forced grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Ianto nodded.

“That will make things easier, for both of us. However, Jack, it would be useless to deny that none of us can compare ourselves with you in field work, or when it comes to alien technology. Tosh is a genius, but you _know_ a lot of this stuff because you’ve grown up with it. We can never catch up with that advantage.”

“In other words: you need me,” Jack stated. Ianto nodded again.

“We do. But I can’t degrade you to a mere field agent and just order you around. That just wouldn’t work. We both know that.”

“But you _are_ the new director of Torchwood,” Jack pointed out. “There’s no way around that fact – unless the Queen decides to reverse your promotion; which she won’t do. You’re _good_ at the job.”

“I know,” Ianto said without false modesty, “but I reckon we can go the middle way. I can work in the field if I have to, but I work best in the background. I’m an archivist and an administrator, not a soldier… or a scientist. So, I was thinking of shared responsibilities. Tosh is already Head Researcher; I’m going to delegate the responsibility for all research work to her. Just as I’m going to delegate the responsibility for all field work to you. That way, all three of us can do what we are best at.”

“But the final decision will be yours,” Jack said. It wasn’t a question, but Ianto answered it nonetheless.

“I’ll always consult the two of you, but… yeah, ultimately it will. Can you live with that?”

Jack considered it for quite a while. Ianto remained silent all the time, nursing his coffee, letting him think. Regardless from which angle they were looking at the situation, it would be degradation for Jack. It had to be his choice to accept it – or to reject it, if he found it too difficult to live with.

“Yeah, I can live with that,” he finally said. “To tell the truth, I don’t even mind no longer being the one who makes the hard decisions. The one who sends people into danger or death.”

“You still might have,” Ianto reminded him. “I won’t interfere with your command in the field, unless I absolutely have to.”

“And what qualifies _absolutely have to_?” Jack asked.

“You taking stupid risks and getting hurt or killed unnecessarily, for starters,” Ianto replied, and Jack felt unexpected warmth spreading around his heart.

“Do I get a fancy title, too?” he inquired.

Ianto rewarded him with that particularly cute frowny face that always made him look about fourteen years old. “What?”

“Well, you’re the Director, Tosh is Head Researcher – what would you call me?” Jack elaborated. Seeing the evil glee spread quickly all over Ianto’s face, he hurriedly added. “Officially, I mean.”

“Hmmm…” Ianto gave the question some thought. “How does Field Commander sound?”

“Field Commander?” Jack repeated, his grin widening from ear to ear. “I think I like that.”

“I thought you would,” Ianto said with a tolerant smile. “And now that we’ve cleared this all-important question… what are we going to do with Gwen?”

“Do I have a say in the matter?” Jack asked with a raised eyebrow. Ianto gave him one of his own in exchange.

“Of course. I won’t guarantee to follow your suggestion, but I’d like to hear it anyway.”

“What about Tosh? Shouldn’t she say her part, too?”

“She already has when we were first forced to get rid of Gwen,” Ianto sighed. “I know her opinion. I’d like to hear _yours_.”

“Why?” Jack asked, a little sharply. “You always thought I’d let her get away with too much, so why is my opinion so important, all of a sudden?”

“Because if it were up to me, I’d wipe her mind so clean she wouldn’t remember how to use the loo properly,” Ianto replied with unexpected harshness. “I cannot trust myself to be fair when it comes to her.”

To say that Jack was shocked by Ianto’s reaction would have been an understatement. 

“I never knew you hated Gwen so much,” he said, visibly shaken. 

Ianto shrugged, his self-control firmly back in place again. “You rarely glimpsed what I truly thought or felt, Jack. You rarely even noticed Tosh or me, unless you needed us to do something for you, because we wouldn’t break down the door of your office and yell at you when we didn’t agree with you. You only ever noticed the loud-mouthed, aggressive ones, like Gwen or Owen. For a while, this served my purposes well; how else would I have been able to hide Lisa right under your nose? But I’ve grown tired to be part of the furniture, and I was definitely sick and tried of you ogling Gwen while you were using _me_.”

“You never said anything,” Jack said, stricken. Ianto sighed with forced patience.

“That was the problem, Jack. I shouldn’t _have_ to say anything, had you really have any serious interest in me.”

“Why did you stay with me, then?” Jack asked. “You could have told me to get lost and find someone who’d treat you better.”

“Because you _needed_ me,” Ianto replied simply. “Owen might have thought that I was only your part-time shag, and in a sense, he was even right. But you needed someone who would take care of you, beyond helping you into your coat and keeping you caffeinated and warming your bed. You had been alone and uncared for for too long.”

“I still need you,” Jack said quietly. “Now more than ever.”

“And I shall keep taking care of you as long as you let me,” Ianto replied. “But don’t expect me to jump into bed with you as if nothing had happened. I… I can’t do that just yet.”

“What about later?” Jack asked hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Ianto admitted. “First I must come to terms with the fact that you’re back again. Quite frankly, I thought you were gone for good, travelling through space and time with the Doctor, trying to forget what had happened in the Year That Never Was. I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Earth hasn’t been too kind to you, in either period of your life.”

“And yet you kept my room ready for me,” Jack said.

“Of course,” Ianto seemed surprised that he’d have expected anything else. “That’s your _home_ ; and there was always a slim chance that you might return. Even if only for a short visit.”

“So, does this mean there might still be a chance for the two of us?” Jack asked, taking Ianto’s hand and kissing it.

Even in the dim light of the garden lantern, he could see Ianto blush furiously and suppressed a grin. That gesture would have been completely natural in his own time – but not in the one they were living right now. He felt no remorse, though, expressing his gratitude the way he’d have done back home. Besides, he loved to see Ianto blush.

“Perhaps,” the young Welshman said, regaining his balance. “Assuming you can mange to be honest with me. And I’ll need _time_ , Jack. There’s a lot to adjust to, being the head of Torchwood, dealing with the highest authorities, picking the right people to work for me… I was not trained for this!”

“You seem to manage a lot better than I ever have,” Jack commented, suppressing a tingle of bitterness. Ianto, however, shook his head.

“Oh, no. I’m good at keeping the machinery running, but you have always been the driving force behind Torchwood Three. We’re fortunate to have you back. Give things time to calm down. We’ll see what happens then, where the two of us are concerned.”

“I can do that,” Jack agreed. “ _Time_ is something I have aplenty. But I’d prefer to spend a considerable part of it with _you_.”

“Don’t push,” Ianto warned. “I said I’ll give this – whatever it is between us – a chance. But you’ll have to give _me_ the time to get there at my own speed. Now, we were talking about Gwen. What are we gonna do about her?”

“Has she regained her memories about us?”

“No; and we’re keeping her blindfolded in a cell. She doesn’t know where she is; but she knows she’s pushed you off that rooftop, and she remembers John Hart. Besides, we can’t keep her indefinitely. Sooner or later, someone’s gonna miss her. If nobody else, her parents will.”

“Where do her parents live?” Jack asked.

“Newport,” Ianto sighed. “I’ve thought of that; but it’s not far enough.”

“Still better than letting her run free in Cardiff, where anything and everything could trigger those memories,” Jack pointed out. “And since time has reverted to the point when John first came through, you won’t even need to Retcon her again. That’s the beauty of temporal replacements: it never actually happened.”

“But she was in the Hub when it happened, and the Vaults have temporal shielding,” Ianto reminded him. “She’ll keep the memories of those two days, won’t she?”

“Perhaps; I’m not quite sure myself how the temporal shielding works,” Jack admitted. “But even if she remembers her fling with John, or having pushed me, we – or rather a therapist – can explain that away as a nightmare. And a very erotic dream, respectively. I’m sure Martha would know someone… or play the part herself.”

“We’ll have to create a backstory about a head injury resulting in memory loss,” Ianto said thoughtfully. “And we can make her lose the flat, so that she’d have no other choice than to go back to her parents.”

“You’ll have to keep an eye on her, though,” Jack reminded him. “She’s fought Retcon before; her memories might be triggered again.”

“That was a very specific trigger, and besides, you messed up the dosage of the Retcon,” Ianto returned. “But we will keep an eye on her nonetheless. Sally will see that surveillance is established. I’d still prefer if we wouldn’t have anything to do with her in the future. I never despised anyone so much in my whole life; and I don’t like the feeling.”

Jack smiled and touched the younger man’s face gently. “You’re a good man, Ianto Jones.”

“I’m trying,” Ianto leaned into his touch unconsciously; then he realized what he was doing and pulled back. “We should go back to the others. Dinner ought to be about ready.”

“All right,” Jack accepted the wordless rebuke and rose. “I’m kinda hungry anyway. Is Rhys really such a good cook?”

“The best,” Ianto assured him. “And he _likes_ to cook, too, regardless of what he might say. We’ve had staff dinner in his and Emma’s house once a week ever since he joined. In fact, he spoils us rotten. I haven’t eaten home-cooked meals so regularly since… I can’t even tell you how long it’s been.”

“Are he and Emma…?” Jack grinned.

“Not yet… but Emma is working on it, and Rhys won’t stand a chance,” Ianto grinned back. “It’s only a matter of time. They’ll be good for each other. Better than Gwen ever was for Rhys.”

“That isn’t saying much, considering how Gwen treated him,” Jack commented dryly. 

“Well, yes, you weren’t exactly helping,” Ianto returned in the same manner, and Jack had the grace to look embarrassed. He did realize now that he’d indeed overdone the flirting with Gwen, giving her the false impression that he’d want more from her.

“If we’re gossiping already,” he said in a pitiful attempt to change the topic, “is there something going on between Tosh and that bald bloke from One, that Trevor? And PC Andy doesn’t seem totally unaffected by Sally, either.”

Ianto shrugged. “I’m not exactly in the position to abolish office romances, am I? Although they’re still in the making. Tosh likes Trevor as a colleague, but I don’t think she’d return his crush. As for Sally and Andy… I don’t know. They’d make a cute couple, but whether they can bridge the difference in education between them remains to be seen. In any case, when we’ve managed to hire more personnel, we all might have more time to actually _have_ a life outside Torchwood.”

“Including you?” Jack grinned.

“I told you not to push,” Ianto warned, but he didn’t protest when Jack took his hand as they walked back to the house.

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short Epilogue is coming up.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short epilogue happened as an afterthought and wanted to be added, for no other reason than for the need to tie up some lose ends and to make the transition to an eventual sequel easier.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**EPILOGUE**

It took three weeks until the Rift seemed willing to behave long enough so that Emma and Rhys could finally have their housewarming party. It was a cheerful get-together, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and – aside from the Torchwood team – Martha, Detective Swanson and Doctor Connelly, their freelance pathologist, were also invited. 

Swanson had asked her flatmate to baby-sit her daughter and was clearly enjoying herself. She didn’t even punch Jack in the nose when he tried to flirt with her, Ianto commented to Andy with a smile. From Swanson, that was a great deal of allowance where Jack was concerned.

Gwen was safely back to Newport, living with her parents and undergoing therapy. Faked police reports explained her memory loss with having been attacked and kidnapped, and held in some dank cellar for a while, until the police would find her. The identity of the supposed kidnapper as well as the reason for her abduction was never found out, and the case was laid _ad acta_.

Owen had been released from _Providence Park_ , having finished his therapy, but could still only do lab work. He helped out Lloyd in the DNA lab and assisted Doctor Connelly by the autopsies. It was highly questionable whether his hands would ever be steady enough to operate again, though.

Neither was he allowed to drive a car on his own yet, which meant that he had to give up his penthouse and move into a modest little flat near the Plass, from where he could simply walk to work.

“Not that I’d really mind,” he admitted to Jack, nursing his alcohol free beer, while Jack was drinking water, as always. “Too many memories there: Gwen, Diane…”

Jack nodded in understanding. Memories – even good ones – were sometimes hard to live with, and Torchwood was not the place known to generate really good memories.

“How are you coping, Owen?” he asked.

The doctor shrugged. “As well as it can be expected, I guess. Lab work isn’t bad in itself, and I actually like Lloyd. I might even specialize in exobiology, given enough time – there isn’t much competition in that field yet. But it’s hard not being able to do the greater part of my job. I miss field work… the excitement of it. And I preferred how things used to be done here before Teaboy would take over.”

“Well, see that you recover, and I might take you with me as field medic,” Jack offered.

“You think Teaboy will agree with that?” Owen frowned.

“Ianto and I have come to an agreement,” Jack replied with a shrug. “He’s put me in charge of the field work. So, if you manage to pull yourself together, I _will_ give you the chance to see more action.”

“I think I’d like that,” Owen said thoughtfully. “ _If_ I ever come so far. But even then, you’ll have to hire someone for my old job. Torchwood can’t go on without a fully capable medic much longer. Who’s this Milligan bloke you were talking about with Teaboy?”

“I don’t know him personally,” Jack admitted. “Martha has suggested him,” which wasn’t exactly the truth but as close to it as he could get without telling Owen about the Year That Never Was – and he _so_ was not doing _that_. “He works at A &R and has a few years of field experience; worked in Africa for _Doctors Without Borders_ , apparently.”

“Still, he won’t have an easy way to get in,” Owen commented. “Teaboy tends to check out potential hirelings a lot more thoroughly than you used to do.”

“I can’t blame him for that, considering how some of my choices turned out," Jack replied dryly. Owen shrugged.

“Only when you chose with your dick instead of your head. For such a small team we did well enough.”

Jack secretly agreed with him. He missed the old team, too. They had been _his_ team, with all their faults; _his_ choices, no matter how some of those choices ended.

“Life is change,” he said philosophically. “We’ll have to adapt.”

“Yeah, but we don’t have to _like_ it,” Owen watched Emma and Rhys laughing and teasing each other with open disgust. “Torchwood didn’t use to do domestic, and I for my part preferred it that way.”

“You perhaps,” Jack allowed. “The others seem happy enough with the new arrangement, though. Even Tosh.”

“Tosh is just glad to have someone who’s an even bigger geek than she is,” Owen said nastily, and the way he looked Tosh sharing a drink with Trevor definitely had something to do with sour grapes.

Jack shrugged. Owen had had his chance and chose to waste it. He had no right to complain _now_.

Their chat was interrupted by Rhys, who now rose and cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention.

“People, Emma and I have something to tell you,” he began.

“If he goes down on one knee and asks her to marry him, I might throw up,” Owen muttered darkly.

“I don’t think he’d take the risk,” Jack snickered. “He might never be able to get up again. Gwen used to moan about that twinkle in his back and how it ruined all the fun they might have had, remember?”

The shared a somewhat mean-spirited grin at Rhys’ expense. Not that they would have disliked him _per se_ , at least Jack didn’t. They just had been bored to death by Gwen’s domestic woes that she had always felt necessary to share with everyone. Even the memory was somewhat… painful.

To everyone’s relief, Rhys did _not_ go down on one knee. He simply told them that he and Emma had decided to get married, as they found they would be a good match. And since they already had lived under the same roof for quite some time, they wanted to make it official. It clearly wasn’t the greatest love story in the history of Cardiff, but Jack was sure that they were going to have a very successful and satisfying marriage.

“Have you already set a wedding date?” he asked.

“We want to marry as soon as we can,” Emma replied. “Mrs Williams promised to help us with the preparations. We thought we’d have a very small-scale wedding banquet, right here, in the house… nothing fancy.”

“And everyone is cordially invited… Rift permitting,” Rhys added.

“A Torchwood wedding,” Owen muttered sourly. “How much weirder could thing _possibly_ get? Unless you decide to marry Teaboy, that is.”

Jack laughed, but deep within he disagreed with Owen. What other chance did people working for Torchwood have to find a suitable partner, to have some semblance of a life? If Rhys and Emma managed to make it work, then perhaps Sally and Andy would give it a try, too. He wasn’t so sure about Tosh and Trevor – the attraction seemed rather one-sided there – but at least there was a promise of normalcy that they had all desperately lacked before.

Torchwood had always been about the weird stuff. In _one_ thing Gwen had been right: they had been close to forget how to be human. Especially Jack himself, mostly because he had been treated like a freak of nature by everyone at Torchwood – even by Alex Hopkins.

But Gwen Cooper, currently undergoing therapy in Newport, certainly hadn’t expected _Ianto_ , the near-invisible coffee boy to become the one who would bring back humanity to Torchwood.

He glanced across the room at Ianto who was discussing some weird stuff with Martha (presumably pumping her for information about the Doctor) and smiled. He had told the young Welshman, now nominally his boss, the truth. He _had_ come back for Ianto… and planned to stay with him, as long as Ianto would have him.

He had eternity, after all. Spending a lifetime with someone he loved (even if he still wasn’t able to voice those feelings) was something he could afford to do.

~The End~  
(this time really)

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines of dialogue has been lifted from the actual episode but trust me, this one will be very different.


End file.
